


Away

by In_Dreams



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fashion & Couture, Fluff and Humor, Home exchange, Inspired by a Movie, Photography, Post-Hogwarts, Romance, Sexual Content, Smut, romcom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-17
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-09 03:21:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27057880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_Dreams/pseuds/In_Dreams
Summary: Desperate for a change of pace, Hermione unknowingly commits to a home exchange with Pansy Parkinson and finds herself swept up in the chaos of New York City and into the arms of Draco Malfoy. Dramione/Hansy. Loosely inspired by The Holiday.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson/Harry Potter
Comments: 202
Kudos: 939
Collections: Dramione RomCom Fest





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [DramioneRomComFest](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DramioneRomComFest) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> The Holiday (2006) - claimed by In_Dreams
> 
> Author's Note: Hey everyone! This piece was written for the Dramione RomCom Fest. It's loosely inspired by the movie The Holiday―while it follows the basic premise of the movie, the individual character lines will diverge. This story is fully written and will be shared in five parts. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> A massive thank you to my alpha and beta on this piece, Kyonomiko and Persephone_Stone, respectively. And a huge shout out to NuclearNik and QuinTalon for coordinating such a wonderful fest!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

"You think we should _what_?" Hermione's voice caught in her throat, her heart plummeting into her stomach as she whirled on the spot. Her eyes flickered to her boyfriend.

Surely she had misheard.

Cormac's crooked grin was reassuring as he ducked his chin to meet her gaze. Hermione dragged her bottom lip between her teeth, worrying the flesh as she held his stare. At last he sighed, smile faltering just slightly.

"We should break up."

The words danced around the back of her mind, elusive and confusing. A knit formed between her brows. "But why?"

"You know why." He had the gall to lay a hand on her hip, standing steady even as Hermione flinched out of his hold and stumbled back a step. "Things haven't felt right between us for a while now."

Her heart slammed against her ribcage. "What are you talking about? Cor, things have been great; we've been talking about moving in together and―" Shaking her head, she clapped a hand over her chest, taking a deep breath.

Cormac's smile turned pitying. "We both knew this wasn't a _long-term_ thing, Hermione."

Hermione gaped at him. She had known no such thing.

"But what―" she spluttered, tears stinging her eyes. "I don't understand―"

He clapped a hand to her shoulder, strong fingers curling around her skin. "I have to run. We'll see each other around, yeah?"

A harsh breath choked from her lips, but before she could respond, he was gone. For several long, painstaking minutes, Hermione stared at the spot on the tiled floor where Cormac had stood, lips parted in surprise.

At last she stumbled to the sofa, blinded by the confused, silent tears leaking from her eyes.

She and Cormac had been seeing one another for the better part of five months, and she thought everything had been going well—great, in fact. He was a far cry from the pompous prat he'd been at Hogwarts; he'd grown up, and become an important fixture in Hermione's life.

Swiping angrily at her tears, she drew in several shuddering breaths as she buried herself beneath an afghan on the sofa.

She didn't need him. Hermione Granger didn't need a man and it was as simple as that. She had a prominent career as Head Cursebreaker at the Dublin branch of Gringotts, she had her close friends, and she had plenty of other hobbies to keep her busy.

But _still_. Merlin knew even Hermione Granger was allowed to be blindsided.

Sniffling, she rose to her feet, wrapped in a blanket cocoon, and dug out a pint of ice cream from the icebox. Then she collapsed back into the sofa and flipped on the television, staring blankly at the muted pictures that flashed past.

* * *

"You have got to be fucking kidding me." Pansy Parkinson folded her arms, stifling the urge to roll her eyes. "Tell me you're fucking kidding."

A panel of buyers stared her down, stony-faced. The lead buyer―Herbert Howes―cocked a brow and leaned back in his seat. "Miss Parkinson, this is almost identical to your collection last season. We can't purchase this."

She bit down hard on her tongue. "The craftsmanship here _blows_ _away_ that rubbish you just purchased from―"

"Miss Parkinson."

Pansy fell silent, drawing in a deep breath and thinning her lips. "What do you suggest I change for next season?"

Howes and Co. was her biggest buyer, her most lucrative contract by far, and if they weren't interested then she had spent the last several months working her arse off day and night for nothing.

Howes' expression softened and he rose to his feet. He paced towards the selection of perfectly accessorised mannequins behind her, dragging the fabric of the nearest dress between his fingers.

"The clothes are beautiful, Pansy. There isn't any doubt as to the effort you've put in," he said, fixing her with a hard stare. "But the designs are _stiff_ and the Parks line needs something _fresh_. Breathe some life into the brand and we'll be back next season. Go out and experience some new things."

 _Fresh_. She mouthed the word to herself, a frown pulling her lips downwards. Howes and his two partners rose and left the room, leaving Pansy in stark silence.

The nervous energy she'd been carrying for weeks sunk from her shoulders as she cast a glance back towards her arrangement of garments. Parks was the only thing she had anymore; the only means by which she had to prove her worth. Ten years ago she had uprooted her life to chase a pipe dream in New York City. And she was _so close_ to achieving it.

She chewed on her bottom lip, eyes skirting over the impeccable lines of a fitted knit trouser.

"Bloody fucking fresh," she groused to herself.

With a wave of her wand, her lovingly constructed pieces secured themselves inside individual garment bags. Her eyes stung. The bright warehouse lighting high above flickered, and with another wave, the room fell dark.

If Howes wanted fresh infused in her designs, she would give him fresh.

Collecting her garments, Pansy Apparated home.

* * *

One blasted week. Less than a week if she were to be pedantic about it.

Hermione had just landed on her feet again following Cormac's less than ceremonious exit from her life when the _Prophet_ had blasted his new fling all over the cover. The girl on his arm was blonde and perky and barely out of Hogwarts. Hermione's lip curled at the thought.

 _This_ was the reason Cormac hadn't seen her as long-term material?

And all along she had believed his words about being in a place where he wanted to settle down. If anything, the article made it sound like the exact opposite: a Quidditch star sowing his wild oats.

Hermione knew she was a good person, but it was difficult to remember that when the papers described her as "washed up." Never mind the Order of Merlin, First Class buried in her drawer somewhere.

And she was only twenty-nine, for Merlin's sake.

But if Cormac wanted to sleep around with twenty-year-olds, she didn't care.

She was tired of the sympathy in her co-workers' stares, the subtle references that she should perhaps take some time off. The last thing she needed was more time to brood at home, debating her own inadequacies well into the night.

Not that she'd been doing _that_ with any regularity.

On a whim the night before, a few tumblers of Firewhisky in, she'd registered herself for a wizarding network home exchange.

It was one of the many reasons she didn't drink Firewhisky―she so rarely did anything impulsive, otherwise―but for some reason she hadn't cancelled the listing yet.

Maybe there was _some_ merit to the idea of taking some time off. But that didn't mean she needed to leave the country _or_ offer her carefully kept cottage to some stranger. More than likely no one would ever respond, anyway.

Even if she were to take some time away from work, she would be perfectly content at home. She could catch up on personal reading and deep clean the kitchen and―

Hermione released a sigh, deflating at the thought.

Maybe she _did_ need a vacation.

* * *

Pansy slouched at her desk, side-eyeing her sketchbook.

 _Fresh_. She had no idea how to infuse fresh into her newest collection. After similar rejections in meetings with two other buyers, the situation had grown dire. Maybe Pansy _had_ been falling back on the same ideas, relying on her ability to create a well-constructed garment.

She blew out a breath, her fringe ruffling along her brows with the puff of air. She tapped the end of her quill on the desk.

Life experiences. Pansy had been through plenty of those, for Merlin's sake. She shouldn't need some codgy old man to tell her she needed to see the world.

At only eighteen she had left behind her home, her family, and all of the expectations therein to pursue something for herself. She hadn't seen most of her friends since.

Pansy grappled for a small device in her drawer, eyeing it for a moment. She had enrolled her studio loft in the wizarding network home exchange as a dare from a friend who suggested she ought to take a break from work.

But her work was all she had, and Pansy had always insisted she didn't need a break.

The device had never activated, anyway. She tapped it awake with her wand, eyeing the projection that sprung up above it.

"Life experiences," she whispered to herself, flipping through the catalogue of home exchange options. There was a long-buried part of her that longed for home, but she wasn't ready to face Britain again just yet.

A small cottage buried in lush greenery caught her eye as she was about to set her wand down and forget the whole thing. She peered closer, enlarging the projection. This one hadn't been in the catalogue the last time she'd drank too much wine and browsed the possibilities.

"A short Apparition trip into Dublin," she read, wrinkling the bridge of her nose. She huffed a breath, sinking back into her seat again. She didn't _actually_ want to leave New York.

But as she eyed her sketchbook once more, Howes' words drifted through the back of her mind.

 _Breathe some new life into the brand_.

Releasing a great, aggrieved sigh, Pansy tapped on the device and a small speech bubble popped up in the projection.

Pansy spoke aloud. "Is your cottage available for home exchange next week?" She hesitated, scowling at nothing. "I _might_ be interested."

Her words drifted into the speech bubble and vanished. Leaning forward in her seat, she waited until the bubble began to vanish entirely, the device falling dormant.

At last the response came through, the bubble popping up once more.

_It could be. Where are you located?_

Pansy clicked her tongue, folding her arms as she said, "I have a studio loft in New York." Tapping the device again, she forwarded the listing to her own property.

Several minutes later, the response jumped up. _It looks wonderful. I believe I would be interested in an exchange._

With a flicker of anticipation, Pansy spoke into the device again. "Brilliant. Shall we arrange the details?"

* * *

It had taken no fewer than four Portkeys to hop across the world from Dublin to New York City. Even when Hermione arrived at MACUSA's International Travel Office, she still wondered whether she had made a mistake.

Her team had assured her they wouldn't blow up the bank while she was gone, but it offered little cause for relief. Hermione didn't even know what to do with herself anymore when she wasn't focused on work. Maybe she had become a bit of a workaholic over the years, but that was perfectly acceptable in modern society.

As she registered her visit in America, Hermione found herself gazing around.

Witches and wizards in posh suits and couture dresses bustled past, their accents heavy and abrasive. Despite herself, she smiled at the idea of exploring another culture―both Muggle and magical.

When she left MACUSA's New York headquarters, emerging into the streets of the city, she was caught by sensory overload. It was pure chaos, between the loud hum of chatter and horns blaring on every corner, and the wafting fumes from the ubiquitous taxis mingling in the air with the noxious scents of deep fried food. Compared to Dublin, or even London, New York was a wild metropolis in a class all its own.

Hermione would have the next two weeks to spend exploring, so she double-checked the address of the home exchange and made for the nearest Apparition point.

As she landed in the loft where she would be living, Hermione's jaw fell open.

The space was open and airy, with hardwood floors and large windows overlooking a bustling district. It was clean and sparse, with modern furnishings and decor. And it was large enough for Hermione to wonder about the owner. They hadn't spoken about anything but the details of the situation, as they wouldn't actually meet one another.

She enlarged her bags, allowing them to drift towards the bedroom before venturing further into the loft.

In quintessential New York fashion, the space appeared to be a former warehouse turned into a living space, also doubling as a workshop. Eyes wide, Hermione peered around the workshop; bolts of fabric in a wide range of colours, patterns, and materials rose along one wall, overlooking large workbenches for cutting and sewing.

Around the room mannequins wore classy, casual, and couture clothing.

"Beautiful," Hermione breathed to herself as she fingered the silky fabric of a coat on the nearest doll.

Evidently, the loft's owner worked in fashion design.

Hermione's cottage wasn't small or bland by any means, but it had nothing on the glossy sheen of this loft. She moved around the room, inspecting each garment, before arriving at the far wall.

A number of framed awards hung in crisp white frames, and at the centre was a large, unmoving photograph of several people, each dressed in their black tie best, at what looked to be some sort of extravagant event.

Peering closer, Hermione eyed the beautiful gown on the woman in the middle―taking in the straight, shoulder-length black hair with a sharp fringe―and her breath caught in her throat.

The blood drained from her face, mouth falling open.

She hadn't seen Pansy Parkinson since the Battle of Hogwarts, when the girl had suggested they hand Harry over to Voldemort. But the evidence lay plain before her.

Pansy had moved to New York, and Hermione was in her home.

* * *

Pansy scowled to herself. Of all the bloody luck. She had been so relieved the arrangement had gone smoothly that she hadn't thought to inquire more about the cottage's owner.

It didn't ruin the situation outright, but it did put a damper on things. Pansy didn't care for the idea of living in Hermione Granger's home; Merlin knew the woman probably didn't tolerate anything out of place.

Pansy might have been tempted to leave a few surprises for old time's sake, but the magical contract required they leave one another's homes exactly as they found them.

She hadn't seen Granger or either of her sidekicks in the decade since she had left London after the war.

But the proof was bare before her in a collection of photographs—some Muggle and some magical—along the mantle.

Regardless, it didn't need to affect her stay. Provided everything went well, she would have no need to interact with Granger whatsoever. A cursory exploration of the cottage had told Pansy all she needed to know.

The home was moderately-sized and humble, but it wasn't inadequate, and thank Merlin it was tidy. The decor wasn't to Pansy's taste at all, but it wasn't _dreadful_.

Setting her bags to unpack into Granger's closet, Pansy browsed the cabinets for something to drink. Her own personal bank account was connected to her home exchange device so anything she used would be automatically tracked and accounted for. She would go into Dublin the following day to look around and pick up some things she would need for the two week stay.

Gazing around the small sitting room as she took a deep swig from Granger's best bottle of vino―and sneering at the floor-to-ceiling wall of books―Pansy sank down into the sofa.

She blew out a long breath. Bloody life experiences.

* * *

Hermione stood in Pansy's kitchen, acquainting herself with the appliances, when a sharp rap sounded on the door. Startled, she froze on the spot, eyes flitting towards the door. She wasn't certain on the protocol of dealing with her counterpart's visitors, and she drew her wand before edging towards the door.

Another sharp knock, followed by a muffled male voice. When she listened closer, Hermione was surprised to realise the voice carried a British accent. After the thick American tones she'd heard all day, it was a welcome relief.

The man knocked a third time. "Pans, quit bloody moping and open up. You know I'll disarm your wards―"

Tightening her grip, Hermione reached for the door handle and swung it open.

Her next breath caught in her throat; her hold on the wand faltered.

She found herself staring into wide grey eyes, a messy shock of pale blond hair peeking out from beneath the man's Muggle baseball cap. Of any and all visitors Hermione might have anticipated, _Draco Malfoy_ certainly wasn't one of them.

"Holy shit," he breathed. He wore a leather jacket with a t-shirt and ripped jeans, shoulders tight with tension as he dragged a hand along the coarse stubble on his jaw. " _You_ are not Pansy."

Surprised beyond comprehension, Hermione shook her head with a thick swallow. "I am not."

She tried to recall the last time she had seen Malfoy out and about. It must have been several years, at least. But Hermione had been in Dublin for nearly four years now and she rarely made it back to London.

Ignoring the oddity of the situation and the look of utter confusion on Malfoy's face, Hermione pressed on. "Pansy and I arranged a home exchange on the―"

"Wizarding network," Malfoy muttered, shaking his head. "She could have bloody told me."

Deciding to throw the woman a bone, Hermione offered, "It was short notice; I've only just arrived. And neither of us realised who the other was." A flush crept into her cheeks at the way Malfoy still stared at her. He had never looked at her with a shred of curiosity before, or really anything other than animosity. " _I_ certainly didn't know, at any rate."

Her flush darkened with sheer embarrassment for the situation. "Sorry―this must be a difficult way to learn she's gone, if the two of you are―"

Malfoy's low snort interrupted her. "We aren't." He peered into the loft, as if expecting Pansy to jump out and announce the whole thing had been some sort of lark. "We work together― _sort of_."

"Oh," Hermione said, offering a stilted nod. "In the fashion industry?"

The bridge of his nose knitted. "I'm a photographer."

"Right," she breathed, twisting her face into a semblance of a smile. "That sounds nice. At any rate, Pansy will be staying at my home for the next two weeks at which point you'll…" Trailing off weakly, she nodded.

Malfoy leaned on the doorframe, his eyes darting between Hermione and the interior of the loft. "I have to pick up some photos. I know where they are―won't be but a few minutes."

"Oh," she huffed, stepping back from the entrance. She still held her wand, and when his gaze darted down, she hastily stowed it into her pocket. If Malfoy had any thoughts of attacking her, he would have done so already.

But he only eyed her as he edged into the loft. "Where's home, then? Pans wouldn't go back to London with a knife at her throat."

"Dublin," Hermione said. "I work in Dublin."

Malfoy's head tilted in curiosity. "I wouldn't have guessed that." Then his lips twitched, reminiscent of the old smirk she remembered from their school days. But the gesture didn't carry any malice; if anything, a hint of amusement shone in his eyes. "Some brainy, important job no doubt."

Hermione squared her shoulders. He didn't appear to be outwardly belittling her, but it was instinct. "I'm the Head Cursebreaker at the Dublin branch of Gringotts."

Malfoy blew out a breath, at last turning away from her and making his way towards Pansy's desk. "Doesn't surprise me you've done well for yourself." His words struck a chord, the veiled compliment catching her off guard even as he added, "Why are you in New York?"

He shuffled through several stacks of paper before withdrawing a large yellow envelope and peering inside.

Hesitating, Hermione watched him as she toyed with a response. "Everyone needs some time away now and again. And when Pansy messaged me about the home exchange―let's just say it came at a good time."

"Noted," Malfoy murmured, flipping through a stack of photographs. In spite of herself, Hermione looked closer.

"Those are beautiful," she said. He had been polite enough; surely she could reciprocate. "Did you take those photographs?"

He gave a noncommittal hum. "Pansy's last collection. She does the hard work; I just get the angles right."

Hermione rather thought the images were more artistic than that, judging by the creativity in composition and lighting, but she didn't think it was her place to say.

"If it were up to me," Malfoy went on, duplicating the file with his wand, "I wouldn't be taking pictures of models in pretty dresses, but it's New York."

Although she didn't quite understand his meaning, she could follow well enough. He returned the original yellow envelope to Pansy's desk before making his way back towards the door.

Reaching for the door he froze, turning back towards her. "Two weeks?"

Hermione nodded the affirmative.

Malfoy clicked his tongue several times, dragging a hand along his jaw once more. "This is going to sound insane, but Pansy and I were supposed to go to the Yankees game tomorrow night. That is, before she fled the country without letting me know. If you don't have anything else to do, you should come along."

Hermione stared at him, brows raised. But when he glanced away with an uneasy chuckle, she thinned her lips with a swallow. "You know what, Malfoy? I don't have anything else to do."

A wry smile spread, slow and crooked, across his face. Hermione couldn't quite understand why her pulse escalated at the sight of it.

"Perfect," he clipped, "I'll come by around four."

He edged back out of the loft, catching her stare once more on the way. "Enjoy your first day in New York, Granger."

She felt a little breathy as he Disapparated, and whispered to herself, "Thanks. I think."

* * *

By the time she broke into the second bottle of Granger's wine, Pansy's sketchbook was half filled with rough designs that she just _knew_ Herbert Howes would have called stiff.

"Blasted fresh," she muttered to herself with a deep swig. Halfway through the first bottle Pansy had fixed herself a plate of charcuterie from Granger's fridge, and she picked at a wedge of cheese as she scribbled down an image of a dress with an outlandish cut.

Rolling her eyes, Pansy scowled at the page, half tempted to rip it out.

And she might have, if not for the fact that she'd learned to set her ideas aside instead of throwing them out. One of her best garments had come from scraps of other designs.

Raking a hand through her hair, leaving it dishevelled, she took another large sip of wine.

So consumed was she in cursing under her breath―cursing Howes, cursing her sketches, cursing the entire bloody fashion industry―she nearly missed the knock at the door.

Except for moments later, another knock sounded, this one even louder. Scrambling to her feet, Pansy fumbled for her wand. Her head spun a little, and she wished she hadn't made such quick work of the wine.

A gruff male voice called, "Hermione? Where are you?"

"She isn't here!" Pansy called back through the wooden door, hovering on the other side with her wand in one hand and the wine in the other.

An awkward silence followed. After a delay, Pansy realised how it might have sounded. Rolling her eyes, she swung the door open, pointing her wand between the eyes of―

"Potter," she choked, lowering her wand.

Harry Potter's eyes widened―vibrant emerald green behind round black frames―beneath a messy fringe of dark hair. His face was the same—a face that still haunted her dreams, despite being unmistakably ten years older.

"Parkinson?" Potter asked, his brow knitting. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Pansy refrained from rolling her eyes again. Potter's sudden and unexpected appearance had thrown her completely off her guard, and she despised the feeling. She sucked in a tight breath. "Obviously, Granger didn't tell you she was going on a home exchange."

Recognition dawned on Potter's face as he grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut. "She did," he muttered, tilting his head back, "only I forgot and thought it was next week. How long?"

"Two weeks," Pansy clipped, eager to close the door and return to her miserable drunken solitude. "I can't say it was nice to see you, Potter, but if you'll excuse me―"

His shoulder impeded her ability to close the door, and when she glanced up at him, his eyes were narrowed. A frisson of unease swept through her and almost subconsciously, Pansy clenched her wand a little tighter. She hadn't seen the man since she'd tried to throw him to the wolves a decade prior.

"Did Hermione know it was you she was switching homes with?" he asked, brows low on his forehead.

"No," Pansy allowed, managing to lift her chin. "Neither of us knew."

"Small world." Potter gave a bit of a chuckle, and if Pansy wasn't mistaken, his gaze swept the length of her. "You've only just arrived and you're into Hermione's best alcohol, eh?"

"If you call this the best." She gave a flippant shrug, taking a deep swig of wine. "Mediocre I'd say."

"Not _the_ best, _Hermione's_ best." A grin spread across Potter's face, and to Pansy's surprise, she found herself snickering. "Anyway―I won't bother you further. I hope you enjoy your stay in Dublin." Potter's expression faltered as he backed a step away from the door. "And Parkinson―it's good to see you again."

Leaving her blinking stupidly in the doorway, Potter made his way down the steps. Pansy gaped at him, her skin prickling. She ought to simply let him go and call it a strange experience.

"Potter!" she called, a grimace crossing her face when he turned back to face her. Emboldened by the alcohol, she stepped out onto the step, folding one arm across her front in the chill of the night.

He paused, cocking a brow.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Pansy asked, infusing her tone with as much boredom as she could manage.

"Did you misunderstand?" he asked, turning back towards her. "I meant just what I said―you left England a long time ago. Didn't really know what happened to you."

Despite herself, Pansy dragged her bottom lip between her teeth, chewing on the flesh. "Why would you care?"

The words she didn't dare speak hung between them. At last, Potter climbed the two steps back onto the stoop, standing several inches taller than Pansy. His presence felt altogether too overbearing.

But when he spoke, the words were soft. "We were young, Parkinson. I don't hold anything against you from the war. Not anymore."

For several long moments, Pansy stared at him, caught in his bright gaze, pale green in the yellow glow of the exterior lights. She forced a swallow, whispering a quiet, "Right." When he turned to leave again, Pansy cursed herself as she called his name again.

He swivelled his head back towards her once more.

Worrying her lip, she brandished the bottle. "Want to raid Granger's alcohol stash with me?"

His eyes skated over her once more, leaving her feeling raw and vulnerable. She scowled at him, about to withdraw the invitation, when Potter jumped the steps and took the bottle right out of her hand.

He took a sip and flashed her a grin. "That sounds excellent."


	2. Chapter 2

For reasons Hermione couldn't quite fathom, she found herself pacing the kitchen of Pansy's loft, wringing her hands as she waited for Malfoy to arrive. She hadn't seen the man in years―never mind the fact that they had never even shared a civilised conversation before―and she couldn't wrap her head around why he had invited her to a baseball game.

Even if he simply had an extra ticket in the face of Pansy's sudden absence, surely he knew other people who would want it.

Shortly before he was due to arrive, a knock sounded on the door and Hermione froze, her eyes darting to the entrance. It wasn't too late to back out of the situation if she simply didn't answer.

But Malfoy had been pleasant and polite the day before, and if she was honest, curiosity had been driving her spare ever since. Hermione smoothed her slick palms along her jeans before tugging the door open, fixing a smile onto her lips.

Malfoy leaned against the doorway, dressed in the same leather jacket and baseball cap from the day before, and his grey eyes slid up to hers. His lips tilted with a smirk.

"Hello." For a moment he only stared at her, before he added, "I half expected you to cancel on me."

"Right, well," Hermione responded, her voice a little breathy as she stepped back from the door. He followed her inside, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "Nothing else to do I suppose."

His smirk broadened. "Of course."

Objectively, Malfoy had always been attractive, especially after he grew into his sharp features. But there was something about seeing him a little scruffy and disheveled that made him seem _less_ of all the things she used to hate about him.

Less of a prejudiced, conceited bigot, prone to looking down his nose at the masses.

She would find out today whether any of that still held true.

"Can I offer you anything?" Hermione asked, waving a vague hand towards Pansy's cupboards. It was more of a cursory offer than anything, as she hadn't even learned where everything was yet.

But Malfoy's eyes flickered down to his watch―an elaborate silver timepiece which probably cost more than a vehicle―and he said, "We ought to go soon." He eyed her for a moment longer before reaching into his pocket. "I got you something for the occasion."

A gift. Malfoy had brought her a gift.

He enlarged the item, holding it out to her. It was a baseball cap―branded with a New York Yankees emblem, to match his. He reached up, arranging it atop her loose curls. His grey eyes lingered on hers briefly before he stepped back. "You need to represent."

Hermione found her mouth dry. "Thanks."

"Best to Apparate," he responded, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary about the situation.

Swallowing back her nerves, Hermione nodded when he offered a hand, slipping her fingers into his. He gripped her hand tightly, twisting her stomach into a mass of knots, and moments later, he whisked her away.

* * *

If Hermione thought the idea of attending a baseball game with Draco Malfoy was strange, the actual execution of it was borderline surreal. He sat beside her in silence, gaze fixed on the game and lips pursed. Finally he broke the awkward tension between them, glancing towards her. "Pansy hates baseball."

"Then why did you get two tickets?" Hermione asked, feeling humour tug at her lips.

Malfoy clicked his tongue. "Because I don't like to come alone. And she knows it's the only way to convince me to watch basketball with her."

"Interesting," Hermione mused, eyes tightening when his stare lingered on her. "I'm having a hard time believing that you and Pansy Parkinson like Muggle sports."

He shrugged, removing his hat and sweeping a hair through his pale hair before resituating it. "There aren't as many Quidditch teams here to watch as there are back home."

"So you've swapped Quidditch for baseball."

"Something like that."

Hermione settled into her seat a little more, relieved that they wouldn't be spending the entire game in stony silence. "What brought you to New York anyway?"

If the question crossed some sort of unspoken boundary, his expression didn't show it. But even so, he hesitated for a moment before answering. "Pansy moved here after the war. I came to visit for a while and…" He shrugged, taking a swig of his beer. "Let's just say there wasn't anything for me in England at the time. I've been here five years now. I don't imagine I'll stay here forever but for now it's not bad."

"Fair enough." She rolled her face towards him, offering a tentative smile. "And did you already have an interest in photography or was that something you picked up here?"

"Pre-existing. But it wasn't anything more than a hobby." His eyes searched hers for a moment and her stomach flopped before she glanced away.

"I suppose there would be lots of options for something like that here." Idly, she wondered at the life of a photographer in New York City. Fashion designers and runway shows and beautiful, glamourous models.

But Malfoy gave a noncommittal shrug. "If you know the right people."

Judging by the hissed conversation from a group of women who eyed him from several rows back, Hermione could only assume he knew some of those people.

She couldn't quite reconcile this version of Draco Malfoy who enjoyed baseball and wore a leather jacket and jeans, but the flicker of curiosity she had felt since their chance encounter the day before escalated and roiled within her.

"Yesterday," she hedged, "you said you didn't want to be a fashion photographer forever."

"I don't." His eyes darted towards hers with a single-shouldered shrug. "But it works for now. Granger, working in New York is so much about the name you build for yourself. I've been fortunate to work with some of the best."

The words lacked the conceit she might have expected from such a statement; a mere offering of a truth he had come to know.

But his gaze slid away. "I know that look. It isn't all you're expecting."

"It isn't all runway shows and supermodels?" she asked, her voice carrying more of a teasing note than she'd intended.

Malfoy fired her a look, his brows unimpressed. "There is that. But I can't imagine _you_ believing anything is _all_ glamour."

She bristled, not quite understanding the statement, when out on the field one of the batters swung at a pitch with a great _crack_ , and Malfoy shifted forward in his seat, clenching the empty seat in front of him.

As Hermione watched the baseball soar through the air and overtop the fence at the back of the outfield, the crowd went up with a roar.

Malfoy only offered a slow, crooked grin and said, "That, Granger, was a grand slam."

"I was raised by Muggles, Malfoy," she responded, rolling her eyes. "I know what a grand slam is."

He didn't falter, only nudged her shoulder and said, "Just checking."

Hermione wasn't entirely certain why her stomach twisted up at his touch.

His stare lingered on her as the smile faded from his face, and after a long pause he said, "And just between me and you, Granger―even the runway shows and supermodels get boring after a while."

Surprise flickered through her. She assumed Malfoy would love that sort of thing. Snagging her bottom lip between her teeth, she dared ask, "So what would you rather be doing?"

Malfoy stared at her for a moment longer before flagging down a man walking by selling popcorn, and he proffered a Muggle note from his wallet. He ate a piece, tilting the container towards her. Despite herself, Hermione smiled and popped a bite between her lips.

"You're here for two weeks, right?" he asked. Hermione nodded slowly, and his lips curled into a secretive smile. "Maybe I'll show you before you go home."

Hermione gaped openly at him―at the insinuation that they might actually see one another again while she was in New York _and_ at the suggestive tone to his voice. Her face flooded with warmth and she glanced away, turning back towards the game.

Curiosity ate at her but she only shrugged. "Sounds good."

She could still feel his stare on her―as if he could see through her―and it left her feeling raw and vulnerable in a way she had never anticipated. When she caught his eye again, his smile had softened into something entirely different.

"Thanks for coming with me, Granger."

"Thanks for the invitation," she said with a brisk nod. "And might I add… you aren't anything like I remember."

Sadness pulled at his brow. "No. I can't imagine I am." So quietly she had to strain to hear him in the din of the stadium, he added, "Maybe you'd be willing to accept today as a peace offering. I'm sorry for the way I treated you in school."

Disbelief flooded through her but Hermione only stared at him, wondering at the person he had become. "Okay Malfoy. I appreciate that." Blowing out a breath, she swiped a piece of popcorn. "Fresh beginnings and all that?"

His teasing grin returned. "I am all about fresh beginnings, Granger." When his shoulder brushed hers again, Hermione wasn't certain whether it was accidental or on purpose. "I'm shooting on location the next few days. _If_ you want, once I'm back I'll take you to some of my favourite places in New York. Places you won't see as a tourist."

Hermione gazed at him, searching for an ulterior motive. He had been one surprise after another.

At last she smiled, her words honest as she said, "I'd like that."

She couldn't quite fathom the way he made her feel; the warmth in his stare and the soft curve to his lips as he met her eyes. But there was no sense dwelling on it when she would be returning home in less than two weeks.

If nothing else, it would be nice to know someone else in such a large, bustling city.

And one less ghost haunting her from the past.

* * *

Pansy answered a knock at her door, distracted by a book of sketches in her hands. Her eyes swung up to her visitor, and she wasn't entirely surprised to see Potter on the stoop brandishing a bottle of wine.

She released a breath of relief. "Much better. I'm tired of Granger's swill."

"Well you drank it all," Potter quipped, "so you don't need to worry about it anymore."

Pansy elbowed him in the ribs.

But Potter only drifted into the cottage as if he lived there―and maybe he sort of did, knowing how close he and Granger were. Pansy hadn't bothered to ask, but while she had learned he worked in England as an Auror, he obviously wasn't unfamiliar with Ireland.

She fumbled in a drawer for Granger's corkscrew, one eye still fixed on her drawings as she frowned.

"Did you draw all these?"

Green eyes landed on her from where Potter stood at the dining room table, covered with an array of loose sheets. Some were old designs that would need to be tweaked, and some new ones she had come up with since arriving in Ireland.

Most of them would never see the light of day.

"Yes," she huffed, pouring two glasses. Although the last time Potter had been by several days prior they had devolved to drinking straight from the bottle, there was no harm in making an effort at propriety.

She could feel his eyes lingering on her as she carefully stacked up her drawings and set them aside, lest they end up drenched in red wine. She could remember Potter being distinctly clumsy at Hogwarts.

But if she was honest, the man before her was hardly recognisable as the boy she remembered. The thought caused colour to creep up her throat into her cheeks, and she took a quick swig of wine.

"These are really good." His expression was serious as he flipped through her careful stack, peering closely at the designs. "This is what you do in New York?"

Pansy offered a brisk nod. "I have a clothing line."

Gazing at her over his glass, he asked, "What the hell are you doing here, then?"

If it had been anyone else―except for maybe Draco, who already knew everything about her―she would have sneered in their face. But there was something about Potter. He had seen that darkest part of her. He had more right to be angry with her than anyone else, yet his interest seemed genuine.

So Pansy slumped into a seat at the table, schooling her expression. "My most lucrative buyer wouldn't purchase my last collection. Said it was too stiff."

Potter's brows flickered. "I don't know anything about fashion, but I think they look great."

Despite herself, a smile curled her lips at his naive interpretation of the situation. "Thanks Potter." The flush deepened in her cheeks and she was grateful for the wine as an excuse. "Anyway―he told me to go out and get some fresh experiences."

He snickered, setting her drawings aside. "So that's what this is."

Pansy only stared at him.

"I think it's a good idea," he said with a shrug. "If a change of scenery is going to inspire something even better, why not try, right?"

Merlin, what was it about the man?

"I suppose so," she drawled, unable to quite meet his penetrating gaze.

Potter ducked his chin, taking another swig of wine. "If this is what you can do when you're uninspired, I have faith."

Her eyes snapped up to him then, but try as she might, she couldn't infuse her words with any disdain. "You don't know anything about me."

"You're right." Clearing his throat, he leaned back in his seat. Then he cocked a single brow. "Perhaps making the effort is a mistake then?"

She glared at him. "That isn't what I said."

"Look, Parkinson," Potter waved his wine glass, "I told you I'm not holding anything against you. If you don't want me to come by, I won't―but something tells me you could use some company."

"Why do you think that?" she asked, voice dropping to a whisper.

He leaned in, his face cautious. "I know enough about you to know that you're strong. I can also tell you're dedicated to what you're doing, enough to throw yourself into your work and disregard everything else." His throat bobbed with a swallow as he glanced away. "And maybe I just recognise a bit of myself in that."

"So _you_ want the company." A teasing hint of a smirk tugged at her lips.

He didn't respond, but took another deep swig of wine, and he rose to refill his glass, topping hers up as well. She expected him to dance around it but at last he said, "I find I enjoy your company."

Pansy's heart leapt into her throat.

He pressed on. "Six months ago, my fiancée left me. It's fine now―but the only person I've seen outside of work is Hermione."

"Because you threw yourself into your work and disregarded everything else, as if it would make the pain go away," she whispered, uncertain whether she was breathing.

When he brandished his wine glass, Pansy only clinked it with her own. Emboldened by his honesty, she announced, "This is the closest I've come to returning home since I was eighteen."

She had expected judgement in his stare. What she found was understanding. He spoke, his tone deceptively light, "Is it time?"

"No." She shook her head, hesitating. "I don't know."

"It's your call of course," Potter said, swirling his drink, "but I think you'll find the barriers you've built up around it aren't as concrete as you think. England is… still reeling, if I'm honest, even a decade later. But I think people would be more accepting than you realise."

Pansy snorted, uncertain whether she wanted to go any further down this path. "Not my parents. The moment I set foot on English soil they'll try to marry me off. The Parkinson name has been dragged through the mud, and the best way to remedy that is with the right connections."

His expression faltered before settling into a frown. "You're what―twenty-eight? Shouldn't that be your decision?"

She didn't answer him.

Potter flipped absently through her sketches once more, his gaze lingering on an elaborate formal gown she might attempt to sew if she ever found the nerve. "And so you went off to New York to make a new name for yourself."

"Yes." Lifting her chin, she met his gaze. "Parks is one of the only things in this life that I can claim as mine."

"I understand."

And she could tell he did.

"Here's what I think, Parkinson." Potter gazed at her for a long moment, giving her the distinct impression that he could see through her, as if she were paper thin. As if a good breeze could sweep through her. It left her feeling vulnerable in a way she couldn't quite understand and wasn't exactly comfortable with.

But she remained silent as he leaned forward across the table.

"I think you're in pain, and you don't know what to do next." He lowered his voice and said, "And I think you're going to accomplish anything you set your mind to and chart your own path in life, separate from anything else you think currently defines you. But it's okay to let other people in."

Her throat felt thick, her eyes stinging as she held his eyes. At last she whispered, "Thanks Potter." As an afterthought she added, "I _do_ have other people. I have Draco." When Potter's face tightened she hastily added, "As a friend. He lives in New York too."

She couldn't explain the impulsive need to clarify but for the way Potter's green eyes seared through her.

But he snickered, looking away at last. "That's where Malfoy ran off to?"

Pansy opened her mouth to speak, freezing as she sucked in a breath. "I didn't tell Draco I was leaving." Her eyes widened with mirth as she clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. "He was meant to come by for some photos a few days ago."

An incredulous look crept across Potter's face until he threw his head back with a laugh. "So you're telling me Hermione's run into Malfoy, of all people, on her trip to New York."

A wry twist curled Pansy's lips. "I can only _imagine_ how that went."

Potter snorted, rubbing at his eyes. "Knowing Hermione―Merlin spare them both."

* * *

New York was an overwhelming place, Hermione soon realised. Even though she had lived near London with her family―and then within the city itself for years after the war―it didn't have anything on the bustling chaos that was New York.

She spent her days roaming the city, strolling the museums and experiencing the history. One day, she ventured towards the magical side of the city, which was as wildly alive as its Muggle counterpart.

As fascinating as the city was, Hermione didn't know if she could live here for any real length of time. Idly, she wondered how Pansy and Malfoy cared for it.

And if she was honest with herself, she found herself thinking of Malfoy more than was probably proper. He had said he would be working on a photography shoot for several days and she wondered whether it had gone well.

Whether he still wanted to show her around when he returned.

She still had a little over a week in New York before the home exchange would end and she would return to Dublin. Alone in such a large, thrumming city, she'd experienced a few flickers of homesickness.

Hermione wondered how Harry had been holding up without her at home. She'd been hesitant to leave him alone, when she knew he still struggled somedays with Ginny walking out of his life six months prior.

She knew he still wondered what he had done wrong.

But she would see him again soon.

And as much as she enjoyed Pansy's loft in New York, she would be happy to return to the comparative peace of her cottage outside of Dublin.

Except for one niggling detail…

Hermione startled from her thoughts at a sharp rap on the door. Unable to quell the anxious leap in her chest, she squared her shoulders and swung open the door.

Malfoy stared at her, a smirk lifting his lips as his grey eyes warmed. "Hello."

He wore jeans and a patterned button down, the crisp sleeves rolled to his elbows and baring the lean muscle of his forearms. If she didn't know better, she might have thought him to be one of the ubiquitous models in New York City, the way his clothes fit as if made for him.

He'd forgone the baseball cap, and his blond hair was swept into a stylish crown atop his head.

Hermione felt colour suffuse her cheeks as Malfoy's lazy stare travelled from head to toe. He dropped his head into a tilt with a murmured, "You look lovely."

"Hi," she breathed, "thank you. And er, so do you." The air between them felt intense, and she added with a hint of a smile, "I've been to the shops."

The corners of his eyes crinkled. "You look _very_ New York."

When he only continued to stare at her, a secretive smile playing about his lips, Hermione blew out a breath and shifted out of the doorway. "Come in."

"I wondered whether I was going to stand on the threshold all day," he snickered.

Her cheeks flared with colour as Malfoy slipped through the door and pressed it shut behind him.

She couldn't escape the heat from his stare and cleared her throat. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"Sure."

As she peered into the fridge, feeling the cool air wash across her face, Malfoy came up alongside her, grazing a hand across the small of her back. She felt impossibly warm at the innocent contact. He reached around her for two bottles at the back of the fridge, flashing a grin.

"These are mine," he said, cracking the cap off one and proffering it to her, before opening the other.

She couldn't tell whether he'd done it intentionally to save her the money that would be deducted from her account by using Pansy's drinks. Maybe he simply wanted to share his own.

But she smiled and took a sip, leaning back against the counter. The bottle contained some sort of refreshing, fruity ale with a pleasant zip on her tongue.

She wondered whether it was a wizarding liquor.

"Thank you," she said quietly, "this is delicious." When he leaned back alongside her, his hip nudging hers, she asked, "How was the photoshoot?"

"It went well. Aside from the creative director trying to override everything I did and the models refusing to cooperate."

"That's well?" she asked, flashing him a grimace. "It sounds like a hassle."

His lips twitched. "That's well compared to some." He took a swig of his drink. "What have you been up to? Making the most of your trip, no doubt."

"Trying to," she said with a bit of a titter. "New York is very overwhelming."

"It can be."

Snagging her lip between her teeth, Hermione glanced at him. "What did you have in mind for today?"

Malfoy shrugged, pursing his lips. "We can do low-key if you like. Lunch―maybe a bit of exploring?" Hermione nodded, feeling grateful for low-key after the past few days. But then he added, "I'm going to a runway show tonight. _Extra_ couture. No pressure, but I can bring a guest if you'd like to come along."

"Will you be working?" she asked, a frisson of nerves chasing through her. She wasn't the _couture_ type.

"No," he said, meeting her gaze. "Just watching. If you want to take in the New York City fashion experience while you're here, this is your chance."

He planted a hand on the counter behind her, his arm grazing her side, and heat chased through her at the innocuous contact.

If she knew what was good for her, she wouldn't let herself get in any deeper.

But she flashed him a smile. "It sounds wonderful."

When his answering grin ignited butterflies in her stomach, she knew she was in trouble.

* * *

Her afternoon with Malfoy was more than Hermione expected. He took her to a wonderful, intimate spot that served the best tapas she had ever tasted, and they shared a series of plates while discussing things of little importance.

After lunch, they strolled the back streets of a neighbourhood she hadn't seen, before Malfoy led her towards a quiet park. The sun was warm overhead and she shrugged out of her jumper, feeling his gaze linger on her for a moment before he glanced away, squinting into the sun.

"You haven't told me why you wanted to get away from home," he drawled at last.

Hermione hesitated, thinking back to the conversation weeks ago wherein Cormac had told her she wasn't long-term material. The sting of the break-up had waned―they hadn't been together all that long―but the words lingered.

As if sensing her doubts, he slipped his hands into his pockets and said, "You don't have to share. It's not my business."

Wringing her hands, she said, "My ex left me for a twenty-year-old."

"Your ex is a fool." His grey eyes snapped up to hers, a hint of coldness she almost didn't recognise anymore. A muscle feathered in his jaw. "And you're better off."

Taken aback, Hermione breathed, "Thanks Malfoy."

Realistically, she knew it to be the truth. She had been swept up in Cormac's words, but Hermione was glad she had seen his true colours before she ended up in too deep.

But still…

"He said it was never meant to be a long-term thing. Apparently, he forgot to tell me that."

Malfoy clicked his tongue as he settled onto a bench in the park. Hermione slipped into the seat beside him. "I'm no expert Granger, but you seem more stable than most of the women I know. It sounds to me like your ex just wasn't ready to settle down and he ignored your true value."

Heat flared within her at the words, at the way he slung an arm along the back of the bench, just behind her shoulders.

"Thanks," she said again, casting him a look. "It wasn't really that serious. I'm not pining after him or anything."

"But it still stings."

She sank back against the bench. "Yeah I suppose so."

As he shifted on the bench his thigh grazed her own, and he propped the other ankle across his knee. "Look, Granger. I don't know you that well but one thing I've _always_ known about you is that you don't take shite from anyone. I've always sort of respected that about you." He fell silent, contemplating his words. Her stomach twisted at the admission. "And I know you're not going to let some insecure piece of shit make you feel like less than you are."

Hermione swallowed, emotion welling within her as she sought comfort in the warmth of his presence. She offered him a wry smile. "You're right; I'm not."

His eyes darkened. "Good girl." Just briefly, his arm slid down the bench to curl around her shoulders; he gave her a quick squeeze before retracting his arm. "You're definitely coming out with me tonight."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the wonderful feedback on the first chapter. I hope you enjoyed!


	3. Chapter 3

If Hermione thought she was nervous before Malfoy came by earlier in the afternoon, the feeling had multiplied tenfold as she tried to prepare herself for the fashion show that night.

She sorted blankly through her luggage, but even the new items she had purchased skewed more towards casual than runway show.

So when Malfoy knocked on the door that evening, she released a heavy breath and answered it, hair and make-up halfway done and still wearing her same outfit from earlier.

His eyes bulged. "Oh shit." Malfoy wore a sharp, impeccably tailored suit. Hermione had to consciously tear her gaze away from the way the trousers fit his arse.

"Help me," she pleaded, the words coming out smaller than she intended.

But if anyone knew about what would be appropriate for her to wear, it would be him. He only smirked at her and shook his head, striding into the loft and venturing towards Pansy's bedroom.

Hermione had laid out the few dresses she had either brought or purchased on the bed, and he eyed them each in turn, fingering the material. He lifted one of the hangers up, peering at the cut of the dress before eyeing her head to toe.

Merlin, she felt stripped bare in his eyes.

He set the dress back down, all business, before moving towards Pansy's expansive walk-in closet.

"You _could_ wear that one," he mused, twisting his lips to the side, " _or_ …" He flicked through the seemingly endless dresses hanging along one rail, at last settling on one. He gazed at it in silence, almost reverence, before drawing it from the railing.

A breath caught in Hermione's throat. It was _gorgeous_.

The material was a deep purple satin―almost black―with intricate stitching details along the strapless sweetheart bodice, fitted through the waist before flaring into a uniquely constructed skirt that ended just above the knee.

He held the hanger up in front of her, his throat bobbing with a swallow. "This one."

"It's beautiful," she whispered, hesitant to even touch the rich fabric.

"Pansy's finest work, in my opinion." His eyes caught hers. "But she's never worn it."

Hermione's jaw fell open. "Pansy made this? Won't she be upset if I wear it out?"

"Not a chance. You'll be wearing her design to one of the hottest runway shows of the season." His lips tugged into a smirk. "And I guarantee you'll catch people's eyes."

Leaving her with the dress, Malfoy skimmed a shelf of carefully organised shoes, peering at two options before selecting a pair with a heel that made her grimace. Then he sorted through an array of Pansy's jewellery, collecting a few shimmering silver pieces.

Hermione eyed the look of concentration on his face, wondering whether she ever could have imagined Malfoy picking out her outfit for a posh event―but she supposed he was probably used to such a thing. Or at the least, he knew more about what would look good than she did, and in that vein she was willing to trust him.

He stepped from the closet with a soft, "Get changed," and closed the door behind him.

As she gazed at the dress, transfixed, she felt a smile sweep across her lips. As carefully as she could manage, she slipped into the dress, finding it fit her quite well. She donned the silver jewellery he had pulled out and emerged to find Malfoy leaning against the wall, waiting for her. His grey eyes slid sideways to find hers and flared with heat.

With several quick taps of his wand, the dress adjusted to fit her form perfectly. He murmured a few spells, twisting his wand into her hair and settling out the partially managed curls.

"You must do this a lot," she said, the tension between them choking her words.

"Not that much," he said quietly, "only when I'm working on a magical shoot."

He was close enough that she could smell his intoxicating cologne as he peered at her make-up, and with a few more quiet incantations, he stepped back, pursing his lips.

Hermione caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror, sucking in a breath. Her hair fell in soft, sleek curls, her eyes smoky but not so overdone that she didn't recognise herself.

"In case you had any doubt," Malfoy said quietly, "you're absolutely stunning." His lips quirked. "And it will be my honour to have you at my side tonight."

"Thank you," she said, horrified to feel emotion welling within her and spiking at the corners of her eyes. She blinked several times, unwilling to run the risk that his makeup spells might ruin. "You've been very kind to me since I've been here."

Malfoy only stared at her, a bit of a furrow between his brows. As if she were a piece of artwork he couldn't quite understand. "I would love to photograph you."

"Now?" she asked, the word coming out high in her surprise.

He smirked. "No, not now. Before you leave."

Hermione felt colour creep up into her cheeks and she tightened her gaze, assessing him. "I'm not a model."

"You're going to blow away any of those models tonight."

She couldn't tell whether he was coming onto her or if he was simply forward, but he hadn't moved since adjusting her hair and make-up, his hands hanging loose at his sides. She slipped on the heels he had picked out, the height of them bringing her nearly eye level with him.

"Think about it and let me know," he said, stepping back at last as he offered a hand. "We'd better get going."

When she slipped her hand into his, he laced their fingers, the feel of it so natural that a jolt of energy shot through her.

* * *

Hermione knew the instant they arrived at the fashion show that Malfoy had downplayed his influence. It seemed he knew every other person who walked past them. He was all waves and charming grins, but not once did he remove his hand from her back, introducing her to various fashion and photography types.

More than once she turned to find a flashbulb going off in her face, and she understood what he meant about her arriving in one of Pansy's creations. Throwing caution to the wind, Hermione smiled and posed with him for some of the photographs. His hand was sturdy and reassuring on her back, heat flooding through her every time she met the warmth of his stormy eyes.

When they finally arrived at their seats―front row, nonetheless―Hermione shot him a stare.

"Sorry about that," he murmured, a teasing smirk pulling at his lips. "I would have warned you in advance but the look on your face was too good."

"I didn't know you were a celebrity," she hissed, eyes narrowing.

But he only rolled his eyes in return, shifting his hand along her spine to rest on her upper back. His fingers played about the bare skin between her shoulders, almost absently, and the feel of it was more distracting than she might have expected.

"Six months from now I could be nothing," Malfoy said softly. "New York can be fickle like that."

Hermione nudged him in the ribs. "I think you're being humble―and _that_ is something I never thought I'd hear myself saying about Draco Malfoy."

His eyes met hers. "Say that again."

"That you're humble?" Hermione snickered. "I'm not trying to give your ego―"

"My name."

Heat flared through her, throbbing with her pulse as she whispered, "Draco," the word rolling from her tongue like silk. Distantly, she was aware of the hum of noise around her, and even the eyes that watched them, but she found herself lost in the grey of his irises.

Malfoy's palm flexed on her back, a soft smile curling his mouth. Finally he said, "I'm not going to say I don't like the sound of that."

Hermione couldn't get a read on him, whether he was actually interested in her or if he was just a flirt and it was all an act for the cameras. But he still traced the curve of her spine with his fingertips, his touch soft, and she wondered how he could be that good of an actor.

She breathed, "Say mine."

His expression faltered. "Hermione."

Her heart jumped into her throat, skin tingling, and she didn't think she could have looked away from him if she tried.

But then the lights dropped, loud music with a heavy beat burst to life, and she sucked in a breath, shifting in her seat. His hand curled around her far shoulder, warming her bare skin as he sank into his seat.

Following his lead, Hermione settled in for the show.

* * *

Her ears rang but a wide grin stretched across Hermione's face by the time the fashion show was over. Between the steady beat of the music, the consistent flashing of cameras, and the blaring lights dancing around and illuminating the models in wild clothing, her mind whirled.

Malfoy looped an arm around her waist, his thumb dragging across her hip as he led her from the building into the crisp night air. His eyes were a little glazed from the steady rounds of champagne, and given the way she didn't feel particularly _cold_ , Hermione figured she was moderately intoxicated as well.

Despite the late hour, New York City was still alive, lights flashing on every corner and people bustling along the walks.

Malfoy ducked in, his breath warm against her ear as he asked, "Are you cold?"

She shook her head, chewing her lip. Hermione was infinitely grateful for the cushioning charms Pansy must have put on the heels she'd borrowed as they ambled back in the direction of the Apparition point.

His hand still lingered on her hip, and he hitched her closer.

"I had fun tonight," she said, offering him a smile as she tucked herself into his side.

A smirk teased his lips. "As did I. Thank you for accompanying me."

Her head spun a little from the champagne; perhaps she'd had more to drink than she realised, and she stumbled a little as she walked. Malfoy snickered, his arm around her tightening.

"Come on. Let's get you home."

Hermione came to an abrupt stop, dropping her chin as she stared at him. "Why have you been so nice to me?"

Malfoy's eyes flashed as he came to an abrupt stop, people jostling them as they rushed past.

"Because I treated you _so badly_ when we were young," he said, his voice hoarse, "and you didn't deserve that. It took a bloody war for me to realise the very foundations of my life were built on sand." His brow furrowed, despair etched in his handsome face. "I'm surprised you even gave me a second chance."

"It was a long time ago," she breathed, searching his gaze for any hint of a lie and coming up short. "And why shouldn't you have another chance if you're willing to set aside your pride and ask?"

His breathing was shallow, his hand still lingering on her hip as he stared at her.

She wanted to kiss him.

But someone shoved past her and Hermione stumbled forward in her precarious heels. Malfoy shouted something after the man, and despite everything else, she found herself giggling with mirth at the situation. He flashed her a grin, rolling his eyes.

Then he dragged her between two buildings to the Apparition point, and within moments they were back in Pansy's loft.

The space between them hummed with electricity as Hermione toed off her heels in the entrance, losing several inches to Malfoy's taller stature. She wasn't entirely certain what had almost just happened between them on the street, but back under the bright lights of the loft she felt anxious.

He lingered near the entrance, eyeing her as he slid his hands into his pockets.

Hermione hesitated, meeting his stare. She found she almost continually had to remind herself she had only known him―this version of him―for six days. And that she would be going home in a week.

But Merlin, the heat in his stare would be her undoing.

A little breathily she said, "Do you want to stay for a drink?"

It _wasn't_ a proposition.

His tongue flickered out to moisten his bottom lip. "That would be alright."

"I'm going to change out of this dress," she said, almost unnecessarily, but nerves had crept up within her at the idea of Draco Malfoy in her temporary home after they had been drinking. And she didn't exactly know what she might end up saying.

"Let me―" he stuttered forward behind her, halting when Hermione froze. But he only tugged the zip of her dress halfway, exposing her bare back to just above the curve of her arse. The feel of his hands on her skin caused her eyes to flutter, warmth pooling within her core as she lingered in front of him.

Malfoy left one hand on her spine, the other drifting around her collarbone and along the base of her throat. She sucked in a breath, and it took all of her willpower not to sink back into his hold.

Not to surrender to the desire that pulsed through her with a dull roar.

His voice was a low purr when he said, "Thank you for coming with me tonight."

"Thank you for inviting me," she responded, her breath escaping as a soft puff. Her fingers curled around his wrist but she didn't make any move to stop his hands as they teased her bare skin. At last she whispered, cursing herself all the while, "I'm going home in a week. So I need you to be honest with me about what this is."

After a long pause in which she was painfully aware of her breathing, he said, "I don't know." He released her, taking a step back, and Hermione mourned the loss of his warmth. "I don't think my answer to that fits into a week. And it certainly doesn't involve you being intoxicated."

The smile he offered her looked forced, and Hermione turned to face him, closing the space between them once more.

"What does that mean?"

"It means," he said, almost apologetically, "I find myself drawn to you, Hermione Granger." He glanced away, blowing out a shallow breath. "Maybe it's best I leave you alone for the rest of your time in New York."

Her mind reeled. After the afternoon―and the night―they'd shared, she didn't want to walk away.

She whispered, "I don't think that's best."

Then before he could respond she pressed up on her toes, threading a hand into his hair as she brushed her lips against his. For the split second that followed Hermione thought she might have made a terrible mistake―but then Malfoy kissed her back, his lips soft yet assertive, one hand coming around her back to hitch her against his chest.

His kisses were teasing but patient, as if he truly didn't want to do anything further while they were inebriated. The thought only made desire coil tighter within her as her tongue darted out to graze his.

Hermione wound her arms around his neck, carding her hands through his hair as he dragged one hand down her bare back, giving her arse a squeeze while he maneuvered her against the wall.

When he drew back from the kiss, dragging his teeth along the curve of her jaw and layering kisses to her throat, a soft moan slipped from her lips. Hermione was of half a mind to drag him into the bedroom and forget the rest, but he drew away, tugging her earlobe between his teeth before resting the side of his temple against her own.

He ghosted the fingers of one hand along her spine. "I should go."

In the back of her foggy mind, she respected him for stopping. She bit her tongue on an offer that he simply stay over, because she didn't know that she trusted herself enough for that.

And she still didn't know what exactly she made of the situation between them.

So she whispered, "Okay."

Malfoy pressed one more firm kiss to her lips before releasing her. He stared at her for a long moment, his throat bobbing with a swallow. Hermione could only imagine the swelling of her lips, the wildness of her hair from his hands.

"I wish I could capture you like this forever," he said, then lifted his hands and pantomimed snapping a photo with a click of his tongue. A crooked grin dragged across his lips that sent a sparkle into his eye, and Hermione couldn't help her own smile in return.

"I'll see you soon," she said, the statement lifting a little towards the end though she hadn't intended it as a question.

But he nodded. "Soon." Brushing a kiss to her cheek, he said, "Good night, Granger."

Hermione wrung her hands to keep from reaching for him again, some of the haze clearing from her mind. "Good night, Draco."

A cheshire grin spread across his face and he offered a wink before slipping through the door.

Hermione released a groan, dropping her head back against the wall as her heart performed a joyful dance in her chest.

* * *

"You will _not_ believe this." Potter found Pansy in the kitchen of Granger's cottage as he let himself in, and she gaped for a moment before turning back to the screen before her on the table.

The bridge of Potter's nose wrinkled with confusion. "Is that a computer?"

"Yes," Pansy said, waving a dismissive hand. "I work with Muggles a lot; it's the easiest way to communicate with them." Waving towards the screen again, she ushered him around and he dragged a chair closer.

Potter squinted for a moment in disbelief, then asked, "Is that Hermione? With… Malfoy?"

Pansy turned to face him, lifting her hands in shock. "He took her to one of the _biggest_ shows of the season. Can you believe that?"

"I can't, actually," Potter clipped, folding his arms. "I can't see Hermione falling for anything that git says."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "Draco's changed a lot, you know. I think even you would be surprised." But she only marvelled at the photo a moment longer. "Look at how beautiful she is."

"She is," Potter admitted, his gaze flashing briefly to the screen again before drifting back to Pansy. "I still don't buy it that Hermione would willingly spend her holiday with Malfoy."

Pansy ignored him, her gaze tracking the brief article that followed. She whispered to herself, "Celebrity fashion photographer Draco Malfoy… mystery woman dressed by―" With a quiet yelp of surprise, she grabbed Potter's arm. "Look! There."

Peering closer, he flashed Pansy a grin. "Parks. You made that dress?"

"Yes," Pansy said, dragging her fingers distractedly along the photo again. "It's one of Draco's favourites. Merlin, she looks stunning in it." Incredulous, she shook her head. If the evidence wasn't laid plain before her she never would have believed it. "Look at how they're staring at one another."

The most baffling part of the entire situation was that Granger and Draco gazed at one another as if there was something deeper between them. But the article―and by extension, the photograph―was Muggle. Only a moment captured in time and frozen for eternity.

"I don't believe that," Potter said, squinting again at the photo. "It must be a trick of the light. She's only been there for a week."

Pansy grimaced, rummaging in her bag for the mobile phone she used for work but had turned off when she left New York. She barely knew how to use the thing beyond its most basic functionality, but she carefully dialed Draco's number, releasing an impatient huff when the line rang twice, then three times.

At her side, Potter only frowned, a furrow in his brow as he watched her struggle with the mobile.

At last Draco's tinny voice clipped onto the line. "Hello? Pans?"

Pansy set the phone down on the table, jabbing at the speaker phone button as she exclaimed, "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?"

A hesitation on the line, and then, "Is everything okay Pans?"

"Everything's fine!" Pansy exclaimed, her voice rising. "Except _you_ are bothering my house guest!" When he didn't respond right away, she pressed on. "I swear to Merlin, Draco, if you've slept with her―"

She could hear him release an amused huff. Then he said, "You're on speaker, Pans."

A quiet, feminine giggle sounded across the line and Potter gaped at the phone. "Hermione?"

" _Harry_?"

Stunned silence fell over the line for a moment and then Pansy heard Draco's grumbled, "The fuck is happening here?"

Then Granger's voice came through. "Harry, what are _you_ doing there?"

Potter scowled at the mobile. "I could ask you the same thing. Pansy saw a photo of you two at a fashion show."

"Look, Granger," Pansy said, swiping up the phone and speaking directly into it, "I'm sorry about him. I forgot to tell him I was leaving and―"

"It's okay," Granger's voice said with a hint of warmth. "We've been getting along―I'm sorry if Harry's bothered you while I've been gone!"

"Hey," Potter scoffed.

Despite the entire cock-up, Pansy felt a laugh burst forth and she clapped a hand over her mouth. "He hasn't _bothered_ me, but he did drink all your wine."

Potter fired her a glare and deadpanned, "Excuse you, I only helped."

Pansy heard Draco's chuckle come across the line. Confusion reeled within her at the fact that Draco was actually spending time with _Hermione Granger,_ of all people. At last he drawled, "I appreciate your concern, Pans, but I assure you Granger is here with me of her own free will."

"It's true," Granger's voice quipped. Then she added, "Pansy, feel free to kick Harry out. He has a tendency to let himself in."

"He can stay for now," Pansy said, catching Potter's sparkling gaze.

"For the record, Pans," Draco's voice said again, "Granger wore one of your dresses to the show two nights ago and you're _blowing up_ over here." He was silent for a moment before adding, "I hope you're doing well."

"Yeah," Pansy huffed. "Life experiences and all that."

Potter still stared at her, a devious smile curling his mouth. She felt heat flare within her.

"It sounds like this has all been cleared up," Granger said with a bit of a titter.

Though she still reeled, Pansy threw her hands up into the air. "I suppose it has. Look out for one another, I guess?"

"You too." Draco's voice sounded far away. "See you soon, Pans. Enjoy the rest of your trip."

When the line went dead, Pansy only stared at it for a moment before ending the call. Then she glanced at Potter, her brow heavy as she chewed on her bottom lip. With a grimace, she asked, "Can you believe that?"

"Not really." He blew out a breath. "But Hermione's always been able to take care of herself. I'm not worried about her if you say Malfoy's grown up."

"He has," she murmured, her gaze landing on the stack of drawings she'd been tweaking. "Did you hear that? About the dress Granger wore?" Excitement swelled within her; she couldn't _pay_ for that sort of exposure.

A crooked grin spread across Potter's face, causing Pansy's stomach to coil and tighten. At last he said, "It sounds like we should go out and celebrate."

A smile tugged at her own lips. "Indeed we should, Potter."

* * *

The man was daft.

He had no concept of nuance, was too trusting for his own good, and most of the time he didn't pick up on Pansy's sarcasm.

But Merlin if Potter hadn't crawled under her skin in only a week of getting to know him.

There was something about him that she couldn't even identify, but he broke down her walls in a way that no one else had managed to do. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that she had been haunted for a decade by the last time she had seen the man.

Or maybe it was something else. Something Pansy couldn't quite understand because she often made a point of ignoring the subtle shades in her life, preferring to stick with the concrete blacks and whites and the things that made _sense_.

What she felt for Potter didn't make a lick of sense.

In fact, he was the opposite of her type. He wasn't polished, he wasn't sharp with his words, and he wore his heart on his sleeve. Merlin, the man was an Auror; he was more prone to charging into a situation, wand aloft, than to trade wit and cunning.

He was a Gryffndor. She supposed that summed him up.

He was rough around the edges, in all the places where she was crisp and controlled.

They were in some seedy pub in Dublin―the third of the night―that Pansy never would have stepped foot in on her own; the floor was sticky beneath her heels, the lights dim and flickering, and several men had just been kicked out for brawling.

The scene was distasteful, to say the least.

But after half a dozen Irish whiskeys, Pansy couldn't help the laughter that burst forth at one of Potter's lame quips, a smile lingering on her lips at his roguish grin as he slung an arm around her shoulders.

He dragged his other hand through his messy hair, his emerald green eyes sparkling as they found hers.

"When are you leaving again?" he asked, his face faltering as he stared at her.

Pansy squinted for a moment, considering the question over the watery haze in her brain. "Six days." She tittered a bit of a laugh and teased, "Why? Going to come visit me in New York?"

Tossing back the last of his drink, Potter shrugged. "Maybe."

The smile fell from her face. "Really?"

"Is it inconceivable that I might want to see you again?" he asked, his tone unusually droll. "And besides―I've never seen New York."

"It isn't your scene." Even as she spoke the words, she swallowed. Most of her experiences with men were largely transactional; especially in New York, where most people were only out to get theirs. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had said anything to her with a shred of sentimentality. But she certainly never invited such a thing either. Dropping her voice, she said, "I think I'd like that."

"Then it's settled," Potter announced, that crooked grin spreading across his face again.

He made it sound so simple. Pansy snagged her bottom lip between her teeth, and his gaze flickered to the movement. But she only whispered, "Okay."

The admission was oddly sobering. She withheld a yawn as the late hour caught up with her, fidgeting with her empty glass. "Let's go back."

Potter held her stare for a moment before he nodded, helping her to her feet and leading her from the pub. They had arrived via the Apparition point in an alley two buildings down, and a shiver crept through Pansy's frame as they walked back.

He wrapped an arm around her, leading her towards the alley, his warmth infusing her skin.

Pansy felt on the verge of something she couldn't quite fathom. His hold was firm and comforting, and when she turned towards him in the alley, she only caught the flash in his eyes before she pulled him in.

His lips met hers, firm and unwavering, his hands threading into her hair as he pressed her back against the building. Her mind swam with whiskey and desire as he hitched her leg up to his hip, deepening the kiss.

Heart pounding in her chest, she slipped the top buttons of his shirt, his firm body holding her against the old shack as his tongue delved into her mouth.

A quiet whimper escaped Pansy's lips as he dragged a hand along the bare skin of her thigh beneath her skirt and she hissed, " _Let's go,_ Potter."

His lips never left her as he pulled them both into the twist of Apparition.

Landing in Granger's dark cottage, she made quick work of his shirt, pushing the fabric from his shoulders as Potter hitched her legs around his waist, stumbling a little as he hauled her towards the bedroom.

He flashed her that stupid grin between kisses, and Pansy felt her heart stutter in her chest as he tossed her into the bed and stripped her bare. She couldn't hold back her own indolent smile.

Merlin help her.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter.


	4. Chapter 4

Pansy stirred, and despite the distant throbbing in the back of her skull, a smile curled her lips at the feel of strong arms wrapped around her.

Potter seemed the type that would let the night before complicate the situation between them―and if Pansy was entirely honest, she wasn't certain it hadn't complicated things for her as well.

She had only known the man in this capacity for a little over a week, but already she felt an unfamiliar stirring within her stomach. Rolling towards him, she stared at his sleeping face for a moment, the slight furrow to his brow and downturn to his lips.

A little voice niggled in the back of her mind: maybe a little complication was a good thing.

Unwilling to disturb Potter when he looked so peaceful―and completely out of it―she rose from the bed and dressed as silently as she could manage before venturing into the kitchen and setting Granger's kettle on.

As she sipped a warm cup of tea, she gazed out the window into the lush greenery beyond.

She found it almost surreal that she was so close to home, but yet…

Pansy wasn't certain she was ready to face England. Maybe she never would be, if she was honest. So many years had passed that her parents had stopped owling her to return home. They rarely owled her at all, anymore.

Draco went home a couple times a year to visit his own mother, and even he hadn't asked her to come along in two years.

But in the span of a little over a week, her thoughts on the matter had begun to twist and blur. What was she still running from, when it came down to it?

For years, she had buried her shame. Shame over the way her fear and uncertainty had seized her, that day in the Great Hall at Hogwarts, when she had offered Potter up to the Dark Lord.

It wasn't even what she had wanted at the time. She had only wanted for everything to end.

Potter didn't hate her―not even close, if the night before had been any indication. A smile tugged at her lips at the thought, heat flaring beneath her skin as she remembered the feel of his hands on her bare skin.

She didn't particularly miss her parents, having grown up in a cold relationship with both of them. Everything she had sought as a youth had been because of what her parents wanted for her―and her time in New York had been about developing a life for herself beyond those expectations.

Idly, she dragged one of her sketchbooks closer, chewing on the end of her pen for a moment before setting it to the page.

By the time Potter found her an hour later, her tea was cold. She flexed her hand as he wrapped his arms around her from behind, ducking down to press a kiss to her temple. Pansy allowed herself a moment of indulgence in his embrace, her eyes fluttering shut.

Whether or not he had been serious the night before about visiting her in New York―numerous drinks in as they had been―she knew she would struggle to leave him behind.

It was the most inconceivable thing that had come from her trip. Even more so than the idea of Draco and _Granger_ spending time together.

"Good morning," he murmured against her skin, the rumble of his voice sending a shiver down her spine.

"Hi," she breathed, drawing herself out of the moment. "How did you sleep?"

He hummed against her skin. "Excellent." Flipping through her drawings from that morning, he said, "These are amazing, Pansy."

Her stomach churned at the honesty in his voice, and she smiled at one of the drawings. "Do you have to work today?"

"Not until tonight." He dragged his hands along her arms, his fingertips raising gooseflesh to her skin. "I have a problem though."

A hint of a smile curled her lips at his tone. "What's that?"

His lips grazed her jaw, igniting heat within her as he said, "I woke up and you weren't in bed with me."

Her smile grew wicked as she allowed him to drag her back to the bedroom.

* * *

Hermione gazed into the massive wall of clothing that made up Pansy's closet, a lump settling in the pit of her stomach. She had sent Pansy a message via her home network exchange device to ask whether the woman minded if she borrowed another outfit; Pansy had been surprisingly amenable.

Idly, Hermione wondered whether Harry and Pansy had seen one another again, but she hadn't wanted to pry.

She wasn't one to judge.

But still, nerves lingered with the tightness in her chest. Draco had invited her to come over that night and his offer had been drifting through the back of her mind ever since the night he had taken her to the fashion show.

Hermione only had four days left in New York before the home exchange would come to an end, and while the situation with Draco had only grown blurrier as the days passed, she had found herself increasingly willing to go along with it and see how it played out. She had no idea if they would even get along beyond the initial sparks between them.

But if nothing else, there were Portkeys and other methods of International travel.

Snagging her bottom lip between her teeth, Hermione flicked through the endless row of dresses. She had already donned a new purchase of her own―a black lace lingerie set that both bolstered her confidence and terrified her. But when Pansy had demanded to know what she would be wearing underneath, and Hermione had sent a photo via the communication device, Pansy's only response had been _YES_.

Then the woman had sent through a description of a dress, and Hermione's stomach twisted as she spotted it hanging on one of the colour-coordinated rails.

The dress was a deep forest green, form fitting with lace and ribbon detailing, and landing above the knee. Smoothing the material beneath her fingers, Hermione blew out a breath.

According to Pansy, if she wore that dress, Draco would die.

And while Hermione certainly didn't want him to die, she _did_ want to make an impression.

She had never been one for fashion over function, but when Hermione slipped into the dress, she felt a frisson of excitement chase through her. Borrowing some of the enchantments Draco had cast several nights prior, she fixed her hair and make-up, and finished the look with some of Pansy's jewellery.

Hermione skimmed the note he had given her with his address―despite that she had already memorised it―and shrugged on a coat. Steeling her nerves with a deep breath, she Disapparated.

"Hi." The secretive smile that broke across Draco's lips when he swung open the door elicited heat below the surface of her skin, and she slipped through the door, feeling his stare on her all the while.

"Hello," she offered, her mouth dry.

He had a studio loft as well, although she knew a large portion was occupied by a photo studio for his freelance work. Hermione forced herself to hold his stare through the ambush of nerves when she slipped her coat off.

His grey eyes flashed, tongue flicking out to moisten his bottom lip, and she watched his throat move with a swallow as he took her coat and blindly reached back to hang it by the door. Voice low, he said, "You look beautiful."

"Thank you," she breathed, casting her gaze over him. He'd had to work late that evening and he wore a collared shirt, the sleeves pushed to his elbows and baring the muscles of his forearms. "You look quite sharp yourself."

But Draco only stared at her, his lips parted as if he didn't quite know what to say.

So Hermione stepped closer, lacing a hand into his hair as she brushed her lips against his. Draco's hands came to her back, tugging her closer as he deepened the kiss, warmth and desire pooling below her stomach.

She forced herself to pull away, meeting his gaze before she said, "I thought, if you still wanted to take some photos―"

"Yes," he cut her off before she could finish, releasing a long exhale. "I'd like that."

Merlin, the fire in his stare would surely set her aflame.

Her face flushed with warmth, but his smile only grew teasing as he tugged her hand into his and led her towards the studio. Hermione peered at the equipment as he set up his camera and tripod, feeling nerves spike within her once more. But he only bit down on his bottom lip as he stared at her out of the corner of his eye.

Clenching her hands together, she said quietly, "You're going to have to tell me what to do."

"I will." His eyes were darker than she had ever seen them; his face faltered for a moment before he added, "I appreciate this. And for the record you can relax. I feel like you might snap in two from a rogue breeze." He offered a crooked grin.

Fixing a smile in return, Hermione let some of the tension fall from her shoulders. "Okay."

She had flung herself far out of her comfort zone to indulge this whim, but she had come to know him better than to believe that's all it was. And she trusted him; the rest didn't matter beyond the look in his eye as he gazed at her over the top of his camera.

Finishing up with his equipment, he echoed, "Okay." He stared at her for another long moment, heat from his eyes searing right through her before he smirked. "Let's begin."

* * *

It only took Hermione a few minutes to realise Draco was a consummate professional. Even with the heated lust in his eyes, he was polite in his directions, carefully adjusting her, his touches feather light against her skin as he guided her from one pose to the next.

Furthermore, she hadn't anticipated the experience to be so _sensual_.

Every nerve, every fibre of her being was alive with awareness.

Ten minutes in, he had tugged off his tie and slipped the top few buttons of his shirt with a wry grin, the only indication that he was as affected as she was.

He snapped photos in an almost continuous stream, his hands deft as he adjusted the controls of his camera, leading her through the session with a fluidity that left no surprise as to why he was so sought after on the New York fashion scene.

When finally he paused and lifted his gaze to meet hers, tongue darting out, Hermione felt exhilarated.

But he only dragged a hand along his jaw and asked, "Do you trust me?"

"Yes." The word slipped through her lips before she even had time to consider her answer. As if noticing the same, a smile crept across his face. He stepped up behind her, sweeping his hands carefully over her bare shoulders.

His breath was warm against her ear. "Stop me if it's too much."

A shiver wracked her spine when he pulled the zip of her dress down, his touch a gentle caress as he pushed the dress from her shoulders. The pads of his fingers grazed her spine and Hermione huffed a breath, her head pitching forwards.

She stood still, pliant in his reverent hold as he pushed the dress from her form, letting it pool at her feet. With a wave of his hand the dress vanished, reappearing on a hanger across the room.

A harsh breath escaped his lips and he muttered, "I swear you're going to fucking kill me."

Hermione smiled, tilting her neck to the side as he dragged a hand up her throat, and his lips brushed the curve of her jaw. Breathless, she murmured, "I hope not."

"It'll be your fault," he said, a smirk curling his lips as he trailed idle kisses along her skin towards her mouth. But he didn't kiss her on the lips, drawing back before rounding to the front to take her in with a heated sweep of his eyes.

She might have felt self-conscious standing before him in her bra and knickers―and Pansy's borrowed heels―if not for the look in his eye. Instead, she felt empowered.

Draco dragged a hand through his hair, his breathing shallow, before he pressed his eyes shut briefly. When he opened them again, his voice was hoarse as he toyed with the strap of her bra. "This is really nice."

"Thank you," Hermione whispered, smiling at his apparent struggle to keep his hands to himself. She lifted her hands to his chest, slipping loose the rest of the buttons on his shirt. He only watched her, wary, as she said, "You're overdressed."

Then a wicked smirk dragged across his face and he waited as she pushed the shirt from his defined shoulders, leaving him bare from the waist up, his jeans slung low on his hips.

She could see the flush in his cheeks as he wrapped a hand around her hip with a squeeze, then trailed a hand up along her ribcage, palming one of her breasts and flicking his thumb against her nipple through the lace.

Desire swelled within her, pulsing in her core. A heavy exhale chased from her lips.

But he only said, "Turn around," backing towards his camera again, "but face me." When she fired him a look over her shoulder he whispered, "Good girl."

* * *

Hermione didn't know how she hadn't simply combusted. She felt on fire under Draco's heated perusal, every drawled direction and miniscule touch enough to undo her entirely as warmth pooled between her legs.

But still, her heart raced with exhilaration as he clicked an endless stream of photos.

He walked up beside her, shifting her into a different pose, and his palm lingered against her arse with a brief squeeze.

She wondered if the situation was getting to him as much as it was her.

Whether he was going to push them both to the absolute edge.

Shifting back into the touch, she smiled when he groaned, pressing his temple against her own. Then she ground back against him, so slight her arse just grazed his front, but she felt the insistent evidence of his arousal as he snagged her earlobe between his teeth.

Draco dragged one hand up along the flat of her stomach towards her breast as the other gripped her thigh, his fingers teasing towards the apex between her legs. A breath caught in her throat, the ache in her core so acute she found herself shifting into his hand, desperate for his touch.

But he whispered, "We're almost through," and released her.

Her eyes narrowed. _Tease_.

He knew _exactly_ what he was doing.

So as he bent to snap another photo, her back facing him, Hermione reached one hand up along her spine and released the clasp of her bra with a deft flick, letting the lace fall to the floor.

Gaping at her, he froze and choked a hoarse, " _Fuck_."

She could feel his stare lingering on her, and she was distantly aware of the click of his camera, but she only slipped her fingers beneath the waistband of her knickers, meeting his gaze with a smirk as she slowly began to inch them down.

His eyes flashed.

Then he was in front of her, kissing her, his hands everywhere, and in contrast with the caution he had displayed all night, he grasped her hip as he slammed her against the wall, hitching her legs around his waist.

As if he had wholly snapped.

Hermione groaned into his mouth as she tugged at his hair, grinding against him and fully abandoning herself to the way he had reduced her to little more than a pool of desire and need.

Her breathing was ragged, head dropping back against the wall as he sucked her nipple between his teeth, one hand slipping between her legs. He thrust two fingers between her folds, his thumb brushing her clit as a cry tore from her lips.

Unable to get enough of him, Hermione fumbled with his jeans, releasing the closure and shoving a hand into his pants.

Draco cursed against her chest, tugging her face towards his as he kissed her again, his fingers setting a torturous rhythm inside her as she wrapped a hand around his cock. With her other hand, Hermione pushed his jeans from his hips, and he toed them the rest of the way to the floor.

Dropping her legs from his hips, Draco stepped back only long enough to tug her knickers down her arse, bending down to trail a line of searing kisses to her thigh as he tossed the fabric aside, leaving her fully nude to his reverent stare.

As he kneeled between her legs, his eyes flashed up to find hers. His lips dragged up into a smirk.

A sharp exhale chased from her lips as he positioned her leg over his shoulder, the heel of her stiletto landing on his back as he ducked in and his mouth latched onto her clit.

With a cry, she laced her hands into his hair, his fingers and mouth working to bring her towards the edge as she grew delirious under his touch, gasping his name.

Between his ministrations and the way he had teased her all night, Hermione found herself rapidly closing in on her release. Her orgasm crashed over her, heart spiking as adrenaline chased through her veins.

Chest heaving, Hermione gazed at him while he licked her juices from his lips, her desire already blooming once more as a palpable, living thing. He pressed a lingering kiss to her inner thigh before rising to his feet once more.

For a long moment Draco only stared at her, his tight gaze searching her own as her breathing settled.

Then she slid a hand back into his hair, kissing him slower than before; she could taste herself on his tongue but she only deepened the kiss. She sank into him as he wrapped his arms around her, bringing her flush against him.

Her heart pounded in her chest, and she whispered against his mouth, "Are we doing this against the wall?"

"Fuck no," he muttered, his lips curving up against hers. Then he hitched her legs around him again, hauling her across the loft and into the bedroom.

His kisses were meticulous, indolent, as he dropped her into the plush covers, his hands covetous as they roamed her bare skin and raised gooseflesh despite the heat between them.

Draco pushed his pants down, his skin warm against hers as he followed her into the bed.

But his attention shifted to her throat and collarbone, up towards her ear. "Are you sure about this?"

Even with the desire for him throbbing between her legs, urging her onwards, Hermione heard the deeper insecurities in his words. The questions he didn't dare ask. She would be returning home in four days, and if there wasn't anything between them worth exploring―

"Absolutely," she whispered, taking his hard length in her hand again and giving the silken flesh several pumps. He groaned in her ear, nipping the lobe.

His stormy eyes flashed as they sought hers once more, and he aligned himself with her entrance before burying himself to the hilt.

Hermione's eyes fluttered shut as she bit down hard on her lower lip, growing accustomed to the feel of his thickness inside her. As his tongue flicked out he kissed her again, then began to move.

Not once before the past week had she ever considered the thought of having sex with Draco Malfoy, but with him deep inside her, she found herself overwhelmed by it. He was pure paradox, from his wicked grin to the careful reverence with which he touched her.

She couldn't wrap her head around it, but not everything needed tying up in a tidy, logical bow. And any time she sought to dwell on the thought of leaving him, she didn't know what to make of the way she felt about it.

So Hermione surrendered herself to the feel of him moving inside her, the touch of his hands, the warmth of his breath mingling with hers.

Arching from the bed, urging him deeper still, she clutched him closer.

And when he thrust into her harder, the feel of him sending her spiralling towards that peak once more―when he kissed her as if he would never let her go―Hermione couldn't make any sense of the way her heart clenched in her chest.

Her nails grazed his shoulder blades as, with a cry, her release crashed over her like a wave. Moments later he followed her over the edge with a quiet exhalation of her name before he stilled, gazing down upon her.

Finally Draco withdrew from inside her, sinking into the covers, his chest heaving.

His stormy eyes only held hers for a moment, and Hermione wondered if he recognised the same strange shift between them. He cast a contraceptive spell on her, and a cleaning spell on both of them, before pulling the covers up.

She feared to say anything in the aftermath that might ruin the unexpected peace that warmed her chest. So she shifted into his hold and he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead, wrapping his arms around her.

Draco stared at her again, his eyelids heavy and a sleepy smile tugged at his lips.

Her heart still swelled with everything that had happened, a smile of her own stretching across her face as she whispered, "Thanks for having me over."

He released a quiet laugh, offering a genuine grin as he said, "No, thank _you_."

Hermione shifted closer, her bare legs tangling with his, and pressed one last kiss to his lips.

And all of her concerns, her questions, her fears, lingered on the tip of her tongue, unspoken as she drifted into a deep, comfortable slumber in his embrace.

* * *

Hermione awoke to heavily-lidded grey eyes on her. As her own eyes fluttered open, Draco offered her a sleepy smile.

All at once, the night before rushed back to her and she glanced away, feeling shame and vulnerability roil within her at the thought of everything she had done. She wasn't typically one to feel self-conscious, but something about him left her on edge. The way they had danced around one another, how she had exposed herself to his camera.

His expression faltered as he said, "Good morning?"

"Is it?" she asked, lips twitching at the question in his voice. Then she softened into the bed again with a quiet, "Good morning."

One of his arms was slung loosely over her hip, and he propped his head up with the other. "Are you alright?" His eyes searched hers in that way that left her feeling like he could see right through her.

"Yes," she whispered.

His gaze narrowed, his arm around her tightening and teasing along her spine. "I hope last night didn't make you uncomfortable." He hesitated, a hint of a smirk ghosting his lips. "If it helps, I've never had a shoot like that."

A laugh slipped free. "It helps a little."

But he sobered all the same, his lips brushing hers. "Is this weird? With you going home so soon?"

"Sort of weird."

Whether he saw something in her face, or by reading her countenance, he dragged her closer into his chest. Hermione felt her eyes flutter.

"Tell me about Dublin," he murmured into her hair. "About your job."

Hermione snickered, her eyes darting up just enough to meet his. "I'm sure you wouldn't find it all that interesting. It's a lot of dealing with cursed old objects that will kill me if I'm not careful."

The blood drained from his face. Brow furrowing, he muttered, "No wonder you needed some time away." But then he added, "I do find it interesting. I looked into Curse-breaking at one point before I moved here."

"Really?"

"Yeah." He tugged one of her rogue curls between his fingers before sweeping it behind her ear. "Don't forget―I grew up in a Manor filled with cursed artefacts."

"I suppose you did." The thought brought a smile to her lips. "I think it's been easy to forget so many things from the past in such a different place."

His returning smile was impossibly sad. "Why do you think it was so appealing to move here five years ago?" They both fell silent, and he twisted his mouth to the side in contemplation. "I had too many things I wanted to forget at the time. New York was a completely fresh start. And I've been able to make a name for myself that _doesn't_ involve being a Death Eater."

She swallowed as she held his stare, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingertips as she dared to ask. "Do you ever go home?"

"Sometimes." His eyelids fluttered briefly at her touch. "My father's still in Azkaban, but I visit Mother every so often."

Hermione couldn't help the sudden swell of hope within her. But just as quickly it faded away. They lived polar opposite lives in completely different worlds.

As if he read the sentiment in her reaction, he frowned. "I'm not going to be in New York forever, you know."

"I don't know what to make of any of this," she admitted quietly, feeling raw in releasing the emotion between them. She had never expected any of this. Hadn't expected to come to New York and have her heart rocked in such a significant way. "It feels like we haven't had enough time to figure anything out. And… I don't want to leave just yet."

"Then don't," he breathed, his grey eyes vulnerable. But then he added, "You have to get back to work I suppose."

Hermione snagged her lower lip with a nod.

Draco stared at her, a knit forming between his brows. "I could come visit you."

"We live across the world from each other," she whispered. "Even Portkeys aren't that efficient. We'd have separate lives."

He released a great sigh, as if recognising the many obstacles that would stand in the way of even an effort at something. And Hermione didn't know that she wanted to give up the idea of it―but maybe it had been impractical from the start.

He opened his mouth as if to say something else, but closed it once more and rolled onto his back instead, tugging her with him. Hermione laid her head on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her face as he absently carded his fingers through her hair.

Finally he pressed a kiss to her forehead; Hermione felt tears sting at the corners of her eyes until he said, "Let's get up. I want to show you something."

* * *

Hermione cast Draco a look of consternation as he nudged her through an interior door beyond his studio, but he only gestured towards another door. She could barely make out the smirk on his lips in the darkness.

Beyond the second door was a small room, a dim light casting a muted red glow upon everything, and a gasp caught in her throat. Draco sidled in alongside her, folding his arms as he leaned against the wall.

"Most of my work is digital since I work with a lot of Muggles," he explained, "but I still like to work with film sometimes. And you can't animate digital photographs." He brandished his camera, flipping a hatch open and carefully withdrawing a roll of film. "I wanted to capture _you_ on film."

The small room was indeed a darkroom, trays laid out in rows along the surfaces, and she could see a potions cabinet along the far wall.

"You're going to animate the photos from last night?" she asked, her brows lifting.

"Some of them," he said with a smirk. "Like that one where you flashed me your arse."

She bit back a smile on the memory of it; the playfulness and desire that had flooded through her. "Can I see?"

"Of course." He peered at the roll of film, slipping on a pair of stylish frames as he strode into the room towards the workbench. "I have to develop the photos first―but the animation is only an extra step from there."

"Your potion skills must come in useful," she mused, scanning the contents of the cabinet.

He shot her a wink. "Enough to keep my brewing sharp, at any rate." He duplicated his stool, sliding the other beside him. "Come on. I'll show you how it's done."

Hermione slipped into the seat, her knee brushing his as she leaned closer to watch the process, and she couldn't stop her smile when his eyes caught hers. He dropped a hand to her knee, his thumb grazing her skin.

She could dissect the situation as much as she wanted―but she only had three days left in New York. Now, more than ever, she felt a desperate need to make the most of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! xoxo


	5. Chapter 5

Pansy felt rather than saw Potter's arrival, but didn't look up from her work, attention focused on the project before her. Fixing a pin between her teeth, she shifted through several swaths of fabric.

He ducked down, a hand to her back, and pressed a kiss to her temple. "What are you making?"

"It might be a dress," Pansy replied distractedly as she pinned a section of her pattern to a cut of fabric. "But it also might be a disaster."

"I highly doubt that," Potter said with a chuckle. He settled into a seat at the table, which was currently buried under her work. He folded his arms, watching in silence for a moment before he spoke again. "I feel like I'm watching a master at work."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Potter," Pansy said with a roll of her eyes, even as her lips twitched.

At last she looked up at him.

"Nowhere?" he asked.

His eyes seared through her and Pansy snickered. " _Somewhere_." Sweeping her hair aside, she asked, "What are we doing today?"

"You look busy," Potter said with a shrug. "We can stay in if you like."

She only fixed him with a hard stare. "It's my second last night here. I heard from Draco, and I have to go back the day before Granger leaves New York. There's an event I can't miss." She noted the slight falter in Potter's face before he carefully schooled his expression. "So let's do something."

Potter's hands came to her hips, dragging her onto his lap. "What's the event?"

"Why?" she asked, offering a hint of a smile. "You want to be my guest?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation, cracking a roguish grin.

As it sometimes did, Potter's easy willingness to go along with almost any situation caught her off guard. Her heart stuttered as she swept a hand through his messy black hair, ducking in to press a kiss to his throat. Against his skin, she breathed, "Okay."

When he kissed her, warmth flared beneath her skin, but she drew back before she could get too distracted.

"I thought," she said, "maybe we could do something different today." He only stared at her, waiting for her to continue, and Pansy felt heat claw up her throat. He left her so disarmed she often didn't know what to make of it. "You know, since I've come all this way and―"

"You want to go to London," he said quietly, dragging a hand along her hip.

Pansy pursed her lips, bracing for his judgement.

But he only offered a thin press of the lips, his green eyes frighteningly genuine. "I'm happy to go with you―wherever. Whatever you want to do."

Merlin, but the man affected her in ways she _never_ could have expected. Had never experienced before. Pansy couldn't remember ever feeling so vulnerable in the eyes of another before.

Potter felt like a freefall, and she was terrified.

But she only leaned in to kiss him again.

* * *

"You know," Pansy said, gazing up at the massive clock tower ahead of them, "I've never actually been here." She cast a brief glance at Potter. "My parents were too busy to do these sorts of things with me―and they never saw the value in Muggle history."

A wry smile tugged at Potter's lips. "I saw Big Ben a few times growing up with my extended family. One time they left me behind and didn't realise until later that day. I spent four or five hours just wandering around because I knew they'd blame me if I gave them a ring."

Pansy cocked a brow. "They sound like arseholes."

"That they are," he said with a chuckle.

When they arrived in magical London that afternoon, Pansy had felt uneasy. As if reading her hesitation, Potter offered to take her on a tour of the Muggle areas of the city instead.

Without any judgement or criticism whatsoever.

He had taken her to see the London Eye, Buckingham Palace, and now to Westminster Abbey.

The day had meant more to Pansy than she even cared to admit to Potter. It had been the perfect interlude to overcome her fears of returning home, but take that first step all the same. A lot of her hesitation had diminished in his company, and maybe one day she would feel comfortable enough to return.

Almost unbelievably, it had been wonderful to escape from New York for a couple weeks.

She had no idea where things would go between the two of them―if anywhere at all―or whether it would just be a fun excursion away from real life to look back on one day. But somehow, against the odds, Pansy had a good feeling about it.

In preparing to return to New York, she felt refreshed. As if she had broken through some unspoken barrier she hadn't even realised had been in her way for so long.

If Potter wanted to visit her―or even continue to see her in some capacity―Pansy was willing to give it a shot.

The idea fluttered around in the pit of her stomach.

Catching his eye, she smiled.

* * *

Hermione relaxed on Draco's sofa, her mind whirring as he cleaned a camera lens, peering closely at it.

Every time she thought of returning home, nerves swelled within her at the thought of walking away from Draco. The idea was absurd, when she had only known this side of him for two weeks. But he had been open with her from the beginning, and they had only grown closer through the duration of her holiday.

Realistically, she knew she had to return home. She had worked for years to get the job she had now with Gringotts, and she didn't _want_ to live in New York.

But that didn't stop her heart from squeezing painfully in her chest each time she looked at Draco.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" she asked idly, perching on the edge of her seat.

He squinted at the lens before setting it down. "I have to go to a thing. A gallery opening."

"Of course," she breathed, offering a belated nod. She clenched her hands together tightly in her lap. "I'm sure that will be wonderful."

His lips curved. "It should be, yeah."

Hermione wasn't even certain _why_ she had thought they might spend her last night in New York together―but she wasn't surprised he had an event. His life in New York was busy―borderline chaotic sometimes―and it was a wonder he had made as much time for her as he had.

It was a stark reminder of how different their lives were.

But he only stared at her a moment longer before releasing a sigh. "It's important. If I could stand to miss it, I would."

"I understand," she said quietly, offering a thin smile. "I don't doubt it's important."

"I didn't know how to bring it up," he pressed on with an apologetic grimace. "I would have liked to spend your last night in New York just the two of us. But… I hope you might like to attend as my date."

Hermione swallowed a fluttering of nerves. "Oh."

"You thought you weren't invited?" he asked, making a face.

She shrugged, nerves skittering through her veins. It wasn't like her to seek such assurance, but knowing she would be returning home without really knowing where they stood was nerve-wracking. They hadn't discussed many details of how this might proceed.

But Draco only ducked his chin, tongue darting out. "Let's put it this way: I can't miss this event. But if you didn't want to come with me? I would skip it anyway."

It was as blatant a declaration as she had heard from him, and colour suffused her cheeks when she caught his eye. Finally she nodded, worrying her lower lip. "If it's important to you, I'll be there."

A soft smile settled on his features that caused her heart to race. "Wonderful."

* * *

The anxiety of returning home the next morning had been replaced―albeit temporarily―with the decision of what she ought to wear to a gallery opening. All Draco had said was that the dress code was formal.

Hermione was certain she hadn't brought anything appropriate, and the few dresses she had bought while shopping in New York didn't feel formal enough, either.

So she had ventured into Pansy's closet, hoping the woman would forgive her one more borrowed dress. As she browsed a section of formal wear in the closet, nothing jumped out at her as something she could pull off.

A quiet knock sounded on the door of the closet, and a smile tugged at Hermione's lips.

Draco surely would have realised she didn't have a clue what to wear and had come to rescue her. But when she turned on the spot, surprise darted through her.

It wasn't Draco standing in the doorway, eyeing her with folded arms.

It was Pansy Parkinson.

The woman was more beautiful than Hermione remembered, or than the few photographs in her loft displayed. But the most surprising part was the lack of judgement or cruelty on the other woman's face.

For a brief, terrifying moment, Hermione wondered whether she had mixed up the dates of the exchange.

But Pansy clicked her tongue, as if understanding Hermione's hesitation. She strode into the closet as she said, "I came home a day early. You're fine." Her dark eyes flashed as they assessed Hermione, and a smile at last tugged at her lips. "I can't believe _you_ are dating Draco Malfoy."

Despite herself and the unexpected meeting, Hermione laughed. "I'd say the same about you and Harry, honestly."

Pansy rolled her eyes. "He's looking forward to seeing you. We'll be at the opening tonight."

"Harry's here?" Hermione asked, a thrill of excitement jolting through her. "In New York?"

But Pansy only smirked. "I sent him off for now, but yes. You and I need to discuss what you're going to wear tonight." At the palpable relief that must have settled into Hermione's countenance, Pansy flashed a true smile. She reached back, dragging a garment bag from where it hung on the closet door. "I thought… if it's okay with you, I'd like to dress you tonight."

Hermione was oddly touched by the gesture, and she nodded. "That would be brilliant."

"Oh good," Pansy said as she rolled her eyes. "Because I made this with you in mind." She offered a wink. "And it's an added benefit that Draco will be _uncomfortable_ all night."

As a million questions spawned in the back of her mind, Hermione only gaped at the woman, a bit of a laugh breaking free.

But Pansy, with careful and covetous hands, unzipped the bag, and Hermione caught a shimmer of silver as Pansy withdrew the dress.

The gown was floor-length, all ethereal beauty and soft flowing fabric. Hermione had never seen anything so breathtaking. As Pansy held it up against Hermione's form, a smirk brightening her face, Hermione felt her eyes sting.

The cut of the front was daring, and the back was exposed from the straps to just above her arse, below which it fell in a loose drape to the floor.

Before Hermione could say anything, Pansy stripped her down and fixed the dress onto her form. It clung to her hips and chest as if Pansy had known her exact size in making it. Pride sat on the other woman's face as she folded her arms, eyeing the dress.

"It's beautiful," Hermione whispered, uncertain why Pansy would have gone to such lengths.

"It's yours," Pansy replied, "so long as you tell _everyone_ who made it."

With a snicker, Hermione understood a little better. Quietly, she said, "Deal."

Taking a step closer, Pansy peered at the fit of the dress in a couple spots, then tugged a lock of Hermione's hair between her fingers. "Let's get you ready, Granger. You're going to break Draco's little heart tonight." Before Hermione could retort that she _didn't_ want to do such a thing, Pansy rolled her eyes with a snicker. "You want to leave New York at the top of his mind, right?"

At last Hermione whispered, "Right."

Because Merlin knew, she did. She wanted to see him again―so much so that she almost didn't know how to acknowledge the thought, given the short length of time they had known one another.

The depth she had come to care about him scared her, if she was honest.

Maybe _she_ would be the one ending the night with her heart broken.

But she managed a smile, and breathed, "Let's do it."

* * *

By the time they were ready to leave for the opening, Hermione found she was unexpectedly grateful for Pansy's presence. The other woman kept her nerves from overtaking her as they chatted about their time in one another's space. It felt like they had known one another for years.

It was surprising, given the fact that Hermione typically didn't click very well with other women.

But while Pansy had been conceited and critical growing up, Hermione could tell she had changed. The knowledge assuaged her concerns about Harry's newfound interest in the woman. Especially given his willingness to go all the way to New York with her.

They would be meeting Draco at the gallery. He had needed to go earlier for work.

Harry met them outside, and Hermione found herself engulfed in her friend's embrace before she realised what was happening. She grinned at him as she drew back. His green eyes flitted between her and Pansy. "You both look amazing."

Looping her arm through Harry's, Pansy flashed Hermione a wink.

Hermione's nerves spiked again as they stepped into the gallery. Small groups of people already mingled, peering at an array of abstract and artistic photography on each wall, as servers in black tie formalwear strolled around with trays of hors d'oeuvres and beverages.

She helped herself to a glass of champagne to steady herself as Harry and Pansy drifted off, idly inspecting the artwork as she glanced around for the distinctive platinum of Draco's hair.

Finally, she spotted him in conversation with an older couple across the room, dressed in a sharp black suit. As if feeling her gaze he looked up, his expression warm with a laugh. But then his face faltered, brows knitting, and his head dropped into a tilt.

He excused himself, walking towards her.

As he approached, his face contemplative, Hermione couldn't help her smile. She ducked her chin with a quiet, "Hello."

"Hi," he breathed, still looking as if he couldn't quite make sense of her. "You look… _incredible_."

"Thank you," Hermione responded, her lips quirking playfully. "The dress is Parks."

His eyes remained locked on her face. "I don't care about the dress." Wrapping a hand around her waist, his thumb dragging along the curve of her hip, he pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek.

Warmth crept up her throat into her face at the feel of eyes on them, but Hermione leaned into his hold before he withdrew.

"What sort of work are you doing here?" she asked, gazing around as more people trickled into the room.

Draco stared at her for a moment, his expression conflicted. He swept a hand through his hair and said, "Tonight, I am existing."

She frowned at the nebulous response, but at the twitch of his lips, her mouth fell open. "Draco! Are these all yours? Is this _your_ opening?"

His smile drew up, crooked and sly, and he lifted his hands in supplication. "Surprise. Remember when I told you I didn't want to do editorial shoots forever?"

Speechless, Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth as her eyes began to sting. Looking closer at the photographs―they were laid out in collections of similar images―she realised they told a story.

New York: the people, the places, and the lifestyle. From the macro of Times Square to the micro of a worn baseball in the grass. But he had curated the collection with such creative flair, the lighting and the composition of every shot so unique, she couldn't help but fixate on each one. Greyscale blended with rich, vibrant colour, and Hermione had never seen anything like it.

Turning back towards him with an incredulous laugh, she threw her arms around his neck. "This is amazing!" She swiped at one eye as she drew back, grateful for Pansy's waterproof make-up spells. "I'm so proud of you."

"I'm just glad you were still here to see it," he said quietly, the sincerity in his tone churning the nerves in her stomach into tumultuous waves.

She still felt eyes on her, and when Hermione looked around again, she found people blatantly staring at her. It made sense, now that she knew she was standing with the guest of honour. But still, the overt attention left her feeling disarmed.

But a wry smirk tugged at his lips again. "You obviously haven't seen the feature collection yet."

"What's the feature collection?" she asked, confusion sweeping through her when she realised no one was actually looking at Draco.

He slipped his hand into hers, their fingers lacing instinctively, as he led her further into the room. With a soft smile, he pressed a kiss to her temple and breathed, "Please don't hate me."

A breath caught in her throat when she saw them.

It was _her_.

The collection was from their photoshoot from several nights prior, when she had arrived at his flat with fear and doubt coursing through her.

But Draco had captured the best of her. The warmth in her eyes, the genuine smile, her head thrown back with a laugh. As her gaze darted from one photo to the next, heat racing through her with her adrenaline, Hermione's eyes began to blur.

This was why everyone had been staring at her.

She could remember each photo. The hesitancy when they had just started, the sultry teasing when he'd stripped her to her underwear.

And at the centre of the collection, in black and white with deep, artistic shadows, Hermione looking over her shoulder at him, the lines of her back bare to his camera. A coy smile on her lips and desire in her eyes.

The photo cut off in the middle of her back. But they were some of the most tasteful photographs she had ever seen, and despite the fact that half of them featured her in her underwear, none were vulgar or overly revealing. Overcome with surprise and the voracious cadence of her heart, Hermione beamed at him.

"Draco," she whispered, "this is amazing."

"What can I say," he said, his stormy eyes hard on her. "I guess you're my muse."

She didn't trust herself to speak, heart faltering in her chest.

He went on, nodding towards the centre photo. "That one's already spoken for."

"By whom?" she asked, gaping at him.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Me, of course."

As her gaze roved the collection again, taking in more of the brilliant details―how one photo led into the next, the interplay between colour and black and white―she noticed Harry and Pansy standing along the next wall. Pansy wore a self-satisfied smirk, her arms folded across her chest, while Harry only stared at her, mouth hanging open in shock.

Instantly, Hermione realised Pansy had known _exactly_ what she was doing when she had made her dress for the evening. Draco must have told his friend about the collection in advance. And it explained why Pansy had spent more time on Hermione's hair than her own.

Snickering, she met Pansy's eyes with a nod; the woman only grinned in return.

Draco's hand lingered on the small of her back, warm and reassuring, and she turned to face him again. "Draco, this is wonderful."

"I'm glad you like it," he said with a chuckle, "and that you aren't ready to kill me for this."

Hermione had never been one to bask in attention, but the way he had captured her was so tasteful and alluring, she couldn't help but stare.

"I'm not going to kill you," she said, "but I _do_ want to hear more about it. How long did all of this take?"

He dragged a hand along the back of his neck, gazing around. "I've been working on this for over a year. It's definitely been a labour of love. I finally arranged the opportunity to display a collection a few months ago. Your shoot was just the finishing touch I needed to tie it all together."

She caught his stare, a sad smile tugging at her lips. "Your talents truly shine here."

"That's the hope." His hand on her back tensed and his throat bobbed with a swallow as his eyes searched her own. "And it's why I'm not locked into staying in New York. For over six months now I've been sharing my portfolio with other galleries."

"Really?" she asked, uncertain whether she was breathing.

"Really." Draco's gaze penetrated through her, measuring her reaction. "In London, for instance." A nervous grin crept across his face, and Hermione realised how unfamiliar the sentiment was on him. "I need a new city to capture now, after all."

Although she couldn't quite wrap her head around what he was telling her, Hermione smiled. "If you're going to be in London, you'd only be a Floo trip away."

His lips twitched. "You might get sick of me."

"I doubt it," she whispered.

"And who knows," he went on, waving a lofty hand, "Ireland is quite beautiful, too." His face softened, his gaze lingering on her own. "I don't know what's next for me yet, Hermione, but I do know I want you to be a part of it. If you'll have me. I know it's only been two weeks, but I've just got this feeling."

Her mouth went dry, moisture spiking at the corners of her eyes again. The words caught on her tongue but she only whispered, "I'm so glad I ran into you here. And..." She drew in a deep breath. "I think I know exactly the feeling you mean."

Draco ducked in, his lips briefly brushing her own, and the look on his face stole her next breath.

"Honestly, you two. You're in public." Pansy's posh drawl broke them apart, but Draco only rolled his eyes, unimpressed.

Hermione tittered as she met Harry's stare, reading what she found there. They would have a long conversation about everything that had occurred over the past two weeks, but now wasn't the time.

Embarrassment threatened below the surface of her skin at what the photographs insinuated, but given the way Harry and Pansy had been joined at the hip ever since they'd met up with him, Hermione doubted he had much room to talk.

"We're going out after this to celebrate," Pansy went on, leaving little room for argument, "before Granger goes home tomorrow." She flashed a grin. "And I need to convince Potter of the merits of spending more time in New York. _Much_ more time."

"Fine by me," Draco said with a shrug. "I'll be a while yet."

Indeed, as Hermione looked around she could still see many guests in discussion around various photographs.

But when Harry and Pansy walked off again, he muttered under his breath, "Something tells me Potter doesn't exactly need much _convincing_."

As she eyed the pair of them, she felt a fluttering in her chest. It was about time Harry opened up to someone again. "I think you're right."

"Come on," Draco said, trailing his hand along her bare spine as he observed the room, "I'll introduce you to some friends."

* * *

Hermione woke secure in Draco's embrace, her heart twinging a bittersweet rhythm.

He shifted behind her, his voice thick with sleep as he said, "Good morning."

"Good morning," she whispered in return, sinking deeper into his hold. "How did you sleep?"

Draco planted a kiss to her hair. "Amazing." He dragged a hand along the flat of her stomach, moving upwards to palm her breast. "What time do you leave?"

A breath chased from her lips as he tweaked her nipple. "My Portkey is scheduled for noon. I'll have to get my things from Pansy's place before I go to MACUSA."

As he squinted towards the window, the early morning light just beginning to stream through the curtains, he sunk back into the pillow with a sigh. "Is it forward to say I wish you weren't leaving?"

"No more forward than displaying a photo collection of me," she said quietly, her words missing the teasing note she'd intended.

Draco rolled his head to face her, eyes searching her own. "I hope that didn't upset you."

"No," she whispered, snagging her bottom lip between her teeth. "It surprised me though." Measuring her words carefully, she added, "As did a few other things you said last night."

"About returning home," he hedged. When Hermione remained silent, hoping she could quell the hopeful leap of her heart, he swept a hand through his hair. "I have a few options, and I haven't heard anything concrete yet, but London is one of them. The one I'm leaning towards."

She ducked in, pressing her lips to his as she murmured, "I like that one too."

"Okay," he said roughly, eyes flashing. "We're discussing this later when you _aren't_ naked in my bed."

When he rolled her onto her back, kissing her deeply, she whispered, "Deal."

* * *

Hermione stared at the first of the series of Portkeys that would carry her back across the globe to Dublin. The weight of it sat heavily in her soul. She'd had no idea, when she left for New York two weeks ago, how completely everything would change.

The very thought of it was absurd, but Draco had become so important to her in such a short length of time.

When she and Draco went to Pansy's loft to pick up her luggage, skirting around Pansy and Harry in varied states of dress, she'd given each of them a lingering embrace. She couldn't help but wonder what Harry's plans would be, but they would have time to discuss that when he returned home the following week.

Drawing her focus back to the Portkey, Hermione found Draco's stare on her.

"We're going to try and make this work," she said, more so for her own assurance than anything else.

"Absolutely," he said with a sharp nod. "I'll visit soon and often. And I'll let you know if I learn anything about London."

Forcing a smile despite the wild pounding of her heart, Hermione nodded. "As will I."

Draco drew her into his arms with a heart-rending kiss that left her breathless, with little doubt as to the sincerity of his words. But he met her gaze, releasing a long breath.

"I just want you to know," he said softly, "how much this time spent getting to know you has meant to me. And… I look forward to what comes next."

"I like the sound of that," Hermione whispered, her eyes growing damp. Her heart clenched as she stared at him, uncertain when she would next see him again. But she couldn't help but trust the faith in her heart. And something else, lingering below the surface when she thought of him, that she wasn't quite ready to put into words just yet.

Swallowing a thick lump in her throat, Hermione squared her shoulders. "Goodbye, then."

"No." Draco shook his head, a sad smile tugging at his lips. "See you later―for now."

For now.

Hermione could deal with that. Her fingertips grazed his for a moment, energy jolting through her before she reached for the Portkey.

His grey eyes found hers, warm and filled with promise of a future they might share, as she whispered, " _For now_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Thanks so much everyone for your support! I hope you enjoyed reading this short story as much as I did writing it.
> 
> Once again, alpha and beta credits go to Kyonomiko and Persephone_Stone, respectively. Thanks friends!


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